


Presque vu, Once More

by vivalamusaine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (in one chapter) - Freeform, Accidental Bonding, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Death, Death loop, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, Eventual Romance, Fear of Death, First Kiss, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Grantaire Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sex, Lost Love, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Enjolras, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pining, Pining Enjolras, Reincarnation, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Sort Of, repeated reincarnation, they just keep dying, understanding each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 61,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalamusaine/pseuds/vivalamusaine
Summary: Presque vu (from French, meaning "almost seen") is the sensation of being on the brink of an epiphany.Enjolras was dead, and there was no denying this. The body he was occupying was not the one he’d grown accustomed to for 26 years, it had not walked the streets of Paris, clasped the hand that sought it in it’s last moments, nor was it riddled with 8 bullet holes.Yet here he was, in a new decade, with a new name, and a new cause, only one other at his side remembered who he used to be. It was death's cruel curse that the person chosen to share his fate of remembering the life he lost happened to be Grantaire.enjoltaire slow burn reincarnation AU.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 72





	1. Orestes Falling And Pylades Grieving

**Author's Note:**

> Heya!
> 
> So I've had this idea for a reincarnation fic since about 2016, the first two chapters are complete and the second will be posted on Wednesday. The rest of the chapters are anywhere from 60-80% complete each. Everything is outlined and drafted. I want to assure you early on that this fic will be frequently updated because well... We all know what happened last time I posted an 8 chapter WIP. (TLDR: I won't take another 3 year hiatus...)
> 
> Anyways - this reincarnation AU has a bit of a twist I have rarely seen explored in other works that will come to fruition towards the end. I hope you like it. Maybe you'll figure it early on because of the foreshadowing (or if you cheat- from the fic tags).
> 
> To expand further on the fic name:
> 
> Presque vu (from French, meaning "almost seen") is the sensation of being on the brink of an epiphany. Often very disorienting and distracting, presque vu rarely leads to an actual breakthrough. Frequently, one experiencing presque vu will say that they have something "on the tip of their tongue."
> 
> This has been a very different writing experience for me, as I usually do canon divergence/modern AU's but this is closer to canon and canon era than anything I usually write. Mostly this is adapted from the brick, and I've done more historical research for this work than maybe ever? It's been fun and intriguing, and I mean that sincerely.
> 
> Disclaimer: Any historical events depicted are alternate!History borrowing vaguely from real events. When we get closer to current times, everything is made up (and the points don't matter!). 
> 
> Enjoy!~

A dream of death had come to him after eight bullets pierced his chest, and life escaped his body. A spectre was there to remove him from this world. They were faceless, formless, unable to to be envisioned, yet their presence was undeniable.

"There is a world beyond, in the heavens waiting for you." So said death.

"I'm not ready to go."

"Few are."

"There is still so much to accomplish."

"Do you really wish to stay in such a world, one you tried to change but was unwilling to listen?"

"I believe it can be done."

Death’s presence was no longer felt as he spoke this, yet his life was still no longer in his body, he saw himself hanging from the window as though observing from above, but death was not at his side. Had he really bargained with the reaper so simply, or was this how the last stream of his consciousness chose to come to terms with his expiry?

It was lonely and cold here in the world between worlds.

Enjolras' final thoughts dissipated, before long all there was left around him was nothingness. He was granted a mere few seconds of peace, until the nothingness became a torrid burning of nothing but red hot pain, oppressive and heavy on his being, the crimson seared him from the inside out, filling the eight holes within a broken chest. Oxidizing him until the scarlet trickled and turned into a deep, sinking blue. But Enjolras wasn’t sinking, he was falling. He was _alive_ and in his body once more - and falling, fast into the blue horizon. A blurring sea of sky broke it’s monotonous, infinite colour as an approaching streaked white littering of clouds came into view, he braced himself for contact. Neither solid nor liquid, he merely fell right through the clouds as though their existence bore no impact on his body.   
  
_If I am not dead yet, the fall to earth will kill me_. He thought, and instantly became aware he could spark consciousness again; but what good would that be, when in seconds the approaching buildings would crush him?

The roof of the apartment came abruptly into view, and once more Enjolras found himself tensing for an impact he had no control to stop. He fell through the clay bricks lining the roof of the building, just as light as the clouds, with no pain or feeling or evidence he had even been there. Floors and floors of different homes he fell through, until he saw a sleeping man in a small bed, and the crash he had been anticipating finally came.

Enjolras awoke with a breathless gasp, clutching his chest in a fevered panic and staring down at the unfamiliar body he was occupying. Turning his shaking tanned hands over in front of him. Still reeling from the journey, he was unbelieving they were solid. _No_ , it was a dream. It had to have been a dream. No mere man could survive a fall to earth unscathed, untouched, unbroken. He rationalized that this had to be an dreamed impossibility. The beginning of a fever, perhaps? But not reality.

He lay in a bed made of materials that had never seen Paris, he had memories of a life that had nothing to do with a failed revolution, and the name on his papers was not Enjolras.

_Then why do I remember my life, and my death_? 

He longed to once more go back to not having a body or thoughts, because the one he currently had made no sense to him.

* * *

“You are as pale as a ghost! Are you feeling ill?” 

Enjolras had to stop himself from calling the man walking beside him Combeferre. His name was Javier, and he was looking more amused than concerned as he asked him this, yet Enjolras met his kind eyes with worry. There was a knowledge in his soul that surpassed reason, a deep root planted and grew into the knowledge that his name was Javier, there were faded memories of meeting him over a decade ago as a child, knowledge of long sleepless nights talking and planning, of shared camaraderie and friendship by the name he was granted at birth. Yet each time he went to speak the roots grew deeper, and underneath all of his memories lay bare the same man with another name and another face, and a different meeting transpired before him, one in Paris, one with Combeferre.

  
“It was just an odd dream I’m spending too long dwelling on.” Enjolras replied, shaking his head. Reminding himself to believe the words he spoke aloud.

“There appears to be quite a bit of dreaming going around today. It must be the anticipation of coming events.” He absentmindedly brushed a stray hair from his vest. 

“You know of another having odd dreams? Who?” Enjolras felt a small spark of hope lit up inside of him, perhaps this was a phenomenon not to brush aside, but to discuss and compare. Perhaps his friends also shared his knowledge of another life.

“Who else but Julio.” He replied with an absent flick of his hand. 

Enjolras nodded as though the platitude meant something to him, he supposed it did make sense in some strange area of memory he couldn’t quite connect to, the day was hot and as they passed through the busy streets of Barcelona, the buildings and vendors almost felt familiar to him. The experience was disorientating him, as though muscle memory alone was leading him to where they needed to be, but when he tried to place a destination in his mind he would only picture the Café Musain at Place Saint-Michel. For a distraction more than anything, he tried to place the face of Julio’s in his mind to have something to focus on other than the whirring memories that clashed and spun in his mind. 

As soon as he pictured the familiar features, a vision struck him so suddenly he forgot to breathe.

_Before the eight bullets striking like lightning, baiting an enemy to shoot him, a shout of “long live the republic”, a familiar face, one that he did not expect, a smile, a hand clasping his own._

_Permets tu._

It was Grantaire who had died by his side.

In this life, it seemed he had somehow connected this memory with a man named Julio. His friend was still talking beside him, and as he forced himself to pay attention to his words, but his mind was still reeling. If the man walking beside him was Combeferre in another body, surely his other friends had places here as well. The thought sent a jolt of lightning through him as the thought of being reunited with them was almost too much to comprehend. A complicated array of guilt and anticipation was now pounding in his heart, and he felt his chest grow tight. What if the others remembered too? But surely Comebeferre would have said something. Although he supposed he had not either.

Javier seemed to carry much of Combeferre’s personality in his stride; his soft spoken philosophy almost word for word what he remembered, even in another language, and under his arm were two worn and battered books. Surely something he had borrowed from another poor student.

He wondered briefly if death, or more specifically _how_ he had died had changed Grantaire at all.

“-I could never envision such a thing,” Javier was saying. “My dreams are always forgotten by the time I am awake. Although I suspect the whole thing was an elaborate fantasy he concocted to tease our desired dreams of martyrdom and glory. You know how he can be.”

Apparently not. 

For some reason this knowledge ignited a fierce anger inside of him. To have a second life and not learn from it, to seemingly die for so much only to live another life of mockery and jest seemed like a wasted venture. Still, the revelation of Grantaires name brought others along with it, he was connecting faces with memories in both this world and the last. By the time they’d reached the pavilion that led to their coffee house, his chest felt as though there was a ten tonne weight crushing it and his breath was short and panicked.

“I’ll join you in a moment.” Enjolras advised his worried looking friend, dismissing his concern with a smile that slid as soon as Javier nodded and departed. 

Leaning a hand against the brick of the wall in order to touch something real. A mess of memories flooded into his mind, drowning him in emotion and despair. He’d been walking in a daydream, the shock and surreality of such an impossibility allowing him to float and drift from one block to the next, but now that he had to face his friends once more - in another life, after seeing them perish in the last, he found himself planted firmly to the place he stood. Combeferre was one thing, his soft presence calming and alluding him to a false sense of normalcy. But to enter the building and see the ghosts of his failures greet him with excited and boisterous chatter, the very thought of it made his knees want to buckle beneath him.

  
Would they be excited to see him? If they remembered, would a part of them blame him for the barricades failure, if they had no knowledge of their prior life would a string of subconsciousness carry a grudge? The thought of either option struck his heart with a painful sharp snare.

How was this real? How had he come to be here, in another life? How could he face them, knowing they were here in this life because of his failures?

The thought made him nauseous. He turned around and rested his back against the hard brick wall, the cold of it pressing through his shirt. Despite the heat, he shivered violently. 

Whatever justified opinions they had carried with them about him, he knew he owed it to his friends to face them once more. Enjolras gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts and catch his breath. Perhaps if they were all together, somebody else would speak of the past, and he would not be the only one who was suffering from the memories that haunted him.

He was not prepared for the wave of emotions that greeted him when he entered the building. It was as though he had been transported back to the Corinthe. Jehan was within earshot, speaking softly of Gods he had not heard of and poetry he’d never understand. Bahorel was loud and boisterous, laughing at a joke Enjolras hadn’t heard. Bossuet and Joly were sharing a drink in the corner with Grantaire as Combeferre and Feuilly shared a smile about something unspoken.

He took a moment in the doorway, drinking in their new faces, taking care to hear their voices. Catching snippets of their conversations in teasing intervals.

Enjolras walked amongst them as though he was in a dream. He took great care to greet them all individually, none of them seemed upset to see him, and they talked so casually of the upcoming uprising that he had to believe they did not remember the barricades. By the time he found a table free, he was convinced he was alone in his torment. Sitting and watching them laugh and joke freely — these were not the faces of young men who had recently faced death. They were optimistic, naive, full of bravado and hope. A part of Enjolras envied their ignorance. But as he sat and watched his friends talk and contribute, those feelings faded fast. He was just happy they were alive in some form, even if it was not familiar.

He tried to insert certain things into conversations that they could latch onto, things that felt familiar yet vague, he waited for their eyes to grow wide, to emit a gasp of recognition, or press their hand to his in a shared understanding. But none of that came his way. 

Even with an underlying disappointment that came from knowing not one of his friends had latched on to the hints he had dropped regarding a past life, he found himself content in their company. Despite their different faces and different names, it was evident that it was them who had come with him. He knew right then and there he’d never be able to refer to them by their new names in his own mind. The two men excitedly speaking of the days to come beside him would always be Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Even if they didn’t remember the 5th of June, or the Musain or the life they had lived with him beforehand, it was evident that they had brought significant parts of their personalities and bonds with them to this life. Perhaps it was for the best that they didn’t remember, even if it meant he had to be alone in this struggle, he was grateful his peers weren’t suffering as he was.

In the corner of the room, his thoughts were broken by a loud, disruptive laugh. He turned his head towards where Grantaire was taking a stand on his seat, waxing poetic about something of non-importance, as Enjolras caught his eye, he stilled in place. It seemed as though his presence had caught him off guard as he stumbled slightly on the seat.

“Get down from there, Julio.” Joly said between a burst of laughter. “You’ll be no use to us within a week if you split your head.”

Grantaire stayed staring at Enjolras, who eyed him with irritability, for a moment he thought as though he might address him, but then Grantaire turned back towards Joly and raised his glass high in mock cheers.

“Oh, but you must know that I am already no use to such great and brave men. My own use is to offer the words of a drunkard's wisdom, to shelve your tired efforts of greatness and to accept a life of blandness and mediocrity. For even a split head is better kept down than raised in defiance. I can speak in tangents about my dreams and prophecies but it is of no use to those who see a brighter future. Perhaps it’s better I split my head now, and share with you all the secrets of the man who knows too much but dares not to say.”

“When have you ever dared not to say anything?” Bossuet countered with a hearty chuckle.

Enjolras sighed as Grantaire continued his speech, and showed no signs of wrapping up, Combeferre looked towards him sympathetically. “You must know that by the time Julio begins on one of his verbal conquests that we will not get a word in for the rest of the eve. You are still not looking well, go home and rest.”

He nodded with a defeated understanding. Despite the joy that came from being surrounded by his friends, the mental exhaustion of the day was beginning to weigh on him. He still felt as though he may be in a strange dream. The surrealness of everything around him seemed ready to snap into reality, more than likely a sign he should be alone to process it completely. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but seeing Grantaire once again in this state produced a strange melancholy within him, as though potential had been seen and squandered in the blink of an eye.

“Keep an eye on him,” Enjolras found himself saying before he could stop himself. When Courfeyrac looked at him curiously he made haste to add: “the last thing we want is to lose the space due to belligerence. We’ll need it for another week at least.” 

They nodded before saying their goodbyes to him. As he made to leave, Enjolras wondered what had prompted him to worry about Grantaire. Possibly attributing it to something he carried with him from his death, Enjolras thought once more to his final moments in Paris.

_Finish us both with one blow_.

Maybe sentimentality was just a result of his exhaustion, yet Enjolras could not help but feel a pity within him that Grantaire had remained the same in this life. A small part of him had hoped his final moments had influenced him in this one. He wasn’t sure why he had figured this, but a sadness came to him remembering their dynamic in life before. Enjolras was not likely to change, the fire within him to fight for justice and equality had carried him through death, and it seemed on the other side of the coin, Grantaire had carried his cynicism too.  
  
By the time Enjolras had reached his apartment and climbed into bed, he felt as though he may sleep for a thousand years. And yet, sleep didn’t come to him. His mind remained more active than before. Punishing him with unending thoughts and fears. He allowed himself the selfishness to weep alone, to express the emotions he had wanted to to the faces of his friends in the privacy of his bed. Eventually, his exhaustion won out, and he fell asleep against the tear stained cotton.

* * *

“How many is too many for one man?” Bossuet asked with a grin as he lifted two empty bottles from the table. Grantaire was resting his head on his arms, but upon hearing the clunk of the bottles being placed back on the table, lifted his head with a half grin, his cheeks and nose red and full.

“That all depends, are we talking wine or women?”

“Both!” Bahorel shouted from across the room, a challenge on his lips.

“Then the answer is as many as one man can handle.” Grantaire replied, taking another bottle from the table.

“Why are you drinking this French piss?” Bossuet asked, lifting the bottle and sniffing at the bottle's neck.

“Ah, for that you can thank a tiny little mite that feasts upon French grapevines.”

“Would this mite be you, perchance?”

Enjolras was distracted by the loud crackle that came from the corner of the room. It had been three days since he had fallen into this body, and their plans to cause an uprising were supposed to come to fruition by the end of the week. Yet every plan he turned over had a small mistake he could not risk. He found errors everywhere, in their strategies, their planned blockade, their communications with different factions. He felt personally responsible for stamping them out to avoid another disaster of a rebellion, he was convinced this was the reason he was here now - to find these errors and ensure victory from his past mistakes. But as soon as one was extinguished two more were found in its place, he had even taken to taking papers home and studying them in lieu of sleeping, until he could no longer keep his eyes open, and they burned beneath his lids. The lack of sleep was irritating, but not as irritating as the outbursts from the corner of the room, did they not realize that every minute counted? That they may be one mistake away from a mass grave within the city?

“Ah, how I wish to be reborn a mite. Drunk on grapevines and free of human suffering,” Grantaire laughed again, sounding hollower than before. “Who would have thought that a plague of tiny insects would grant me a tariff low enough to afford all the wine from Europe? Farmers may curse the small intruder, but I raise my glass high to him, for what good is freedom if a Spaniard cannot enjoy the allures of France for the cost a pauper can afford?”

A rallying cry of agreement rang out and Enjolras whipped his head over to the table in the back corner. Grantaire had been drunk for three days straight and showed no signs of slowing down. Whatever pity he had for the man was quickly losing out to his patience. 

“I need two men to count our gunpowder.” Enjolras said suddenly, not bothering to disguise his annoyance at their leisure. “One for the stockroom and the other for our reserve stock.” 

“The numbers are right here.” Combeferre pointed to a paper that was strewn across his table, but Enjolras shook his head.

“Those are a month outdated, I know we have been gathering more. If we are to run out we need to know when. We have hardly enough for each man if this is what we have to go on.”

“I will retire for the night and pass the reserves on the way.” Bossuet said rising to his feet, Grantaire seemed upset by his departure, slinking further into his seat and tapping his fingers upon the table before him. 

“I suppose that leaves me the stockroom.” Bahorel said, pushing up his sleeves and departing to the cellars below.

“To the revolution,” Grantaire said suddenly, “for turning drinking associates into willing subordinates!"

“Do you have no desire to help your fellow man?” Enjolras scowled at him, rising to his feet and straightening his back. “Or are you satisfied bowing to a ruthless dictator?”

“It depends on your definition of help, I would happily finish a bottle that a weaker gent could not handle, or talk platitudes of romanticism and quote poets for a heartbroken soul, but I have no interest in becoming another body on a wall of fallen ideals. The only dictator I see is in this room, asking those to fall upon their sword for a doomed cause.”

Enjolras felt his cheeks grow red at this accusation. The onlookers who remained grew silent as he strode across the room and placed his hands upon the chair opposite Grantaire.

“If you feel our cause so helpless, why are you here?” Enjolras asked through bared teeth, an anger he had not acknowledged rising within him. 

“I would like to share one last drink with friends before you march them out to deaths welcoming hands.” Grantaire bit back, an ugly bitterness etched over his face.

The words sent a sharp sting straight to Enjolras’ chest. The accusation he had been fearing to hear had reared its head, the despair within his heart disguised itself as fury. As his voice became low and poisonous.

“You’re drunk. You do not have any idea of what you speak about.”

“Drunk or sober, I know more than most.” Grantaire countered, his hand reaching for the half empty bottle before him.

“I do not understand you, Grantaire!” Enjolras replied in a fiery hiss.

The name slipped out mistakenly as he stood to leave, an error grown from his anger and frustration, but the impact was instantaneous. The wine bottle in Grantaire’s hand that was halfway to his lips fell to the floor at the sound of the name, a sea of red stained shards of glass at his feet. His mouth was agape, and his eyes did not move to the broken mess on the floor, but were instead staring at Enjolras as though they couldn’t look away. A realization dawned when their gaze met.

“Enjolras?” His voice was quiet and uncertain, not at all coated in the usual bravado and wit of the man he once knew, all anger within it gone and replaced with fear. To hear the tone on a voice that was so familiar pulled him for a moment back into panicked ire. He was aware their friends were staring at them, although they could not understand the meaning behind a name that to them would sound like gibberish, the room was tense and strained.

In this particular battle of flight or fight, flight won out for Grantaire, who rose and fled the table. The heaviness had returned to Enjolras’ chest as he watched him go, and Enjolras found the tense air unbearable. Somebody called out to him as he left, but it muddled in his mind, unable to comprehend who it was with his mind whirring from names and voices.

  
For a way to occupy his hands if not for any other reason, Enjolras grabbed a forgotten cloth discarded on a nearby table. And crouched down, collecting the larger shards and soaking up the red liquid, the action was a good distraction to enable him to gather his thoughts. Soon Combeferre had knelt beside him, and the room returned to a low buzz of conversation, not quite as lively as before.

“What exactly just happened?” He asked as he picked up a stray shard under the table, his silent offer to help obviously a guise to talk to him as well. Enjolras was tempted in that moment to admit everything of their past life, uncaring whether or not he’d sound mad. But how could Enjolras possibly explain any of this? He was having trouble enough with coming to terms with this reality by himself.

“It is nothing. We were both much too heated than was necessary. It is probably a good thing the wine is spent if he is losing his grip on it already.”

Combeferre made a humming noise, half agreement and half concern. Enjolras could tell he knew he wasn’t telling him everything.

“I’ll apologize. I should know better than to confront him when he’s in that state.” Enjolras folded the corners of the cloth into themselves, creating a structure to hold the pieces as he stood and placed the dripping and red stained material on the table. His red stained his fingers reminding him of approaching death. Combeferre noticed his fingers shaking, and took a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing them as he wiped them clean.

“Tensions are high, we are close to our goals.” He said in a soft tone. “Nobody can blame you for your frustration.”

Enjolras wished he could agree with him. But an agonizing part of him told him that Grantaire was right because Grantaire knew everything about the past. He had witnessed all of his past failures come to fruition, and was right to worry about the fate of his friends once more.

Rain was falling when Enjolras exited the building, he had the good sense to borrow an umbrella from Combeferre before heading out the door. It didn’t take long for Enjolras to find him. 

Grantaire's figure was a crouched huddle in the darkness of the alleyway, perched against the wall next to the pavilion, with his head in his hands. Enjolras approached him slowly, the soles of his boots splashing muddy water up to his calves and soaking through his pants. 

Enjolras stopped as he came in front of him, he stood beside him, extending the umbrella so that it covered the both of them. Grantaire had not moved when he'd heard him approach, but at the relief of rain, raised his head hesitantly, the wetness on his cheeks had clearly not just been soaked from the rain clouds above. He turned his head downwards once more upon seeing that the figure that followed him was Enjolras. He buried his face into his crossed arms, not letting out a sound, Enjolras let the silence settle for a moment. Giving him the opportunity to open the conversation. When it became apparent that the silence would remain if unprompted, he spoke.

“You remember as well,” Enjolras said, hoping the new softness in his tone would erase the harshness from the conversation before. Grantaire did not lift his head from his folded arms, responding only with a curt nod. A sinking feeling came to him with this confirmation. It seemed a cruel curse that the only one he knew shared his memories was the man he had the least in common with. It seemed unkind to think, but Enjolras felt disheartened with this knowledge. “Then you have every right to think of me with blame,” Enjolras said finally, a sigh escaping his chest as he came to terms with everything around him.

Grantaire shifted his head, still resting on his arms so that he could look up to Enjolras.

“I don’t blame you for anything, Enjolras.”

“You said yourself, I am practically marching them into death’s open hands.” He couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into his tone. Truth be told, Grantaire had struck a nerve because he had spoken Enjolras’ worst thoughts aloud.

Grantaire ran a hand through his wet hair, a fruitless effort, as it almost immediately fell back into his face the moment he removed it from his head. 

“You know as well as I do that you or I could never talk them out of doing what’s right for their fellow man.” Grantaire said the words as though it was akin to shovelling horse manure. “I was blaming you for granting me less time with them, not for their deaths. It is hard enough to come into a new life with no warning, even harder to know you must relive losing your friends for a second time.”

Enjolras was at a loss for words for a moment, coming to terms with his own reality was difficult to comprehend, but for this to have happened to Grantaire as well. He too had fallen from the sky, and landed in an unfamiliar body and life. It suddenly struck Enjolras that perhaps that alone could be traumatizing enough, if it weren’t for the knowledge they both shared about their friends' fates. If he had allowed himself any moment longer than small instances before sleep to dwell on it himself, he was not sure if he would be able to stop thinking about it. Their deaths haunted him within his dreams, but he ignored that reality when he woke, focusing on keeping them alive in this one.

"I did not mean to make you upset." Enjolras said, choosing his words carefully. “I had thought…” What had he thought? That the act of dying by his side had changed the cores of Grantaire’s beliefs enough to carry them into a new one? One he wasn’t aware until a few moments ago that he had even remembered. 

It seemed petty to hold him to that standard now. 

“It is no matter what I thought, I acted harshly.”

“It feels as though there is a countdown to their execution,” Grantaire went on, his chin now resting on his arms as he stared ahead into the rain. “Every second I can spend with them is not enough. I cannot even talk to them about the things I remember.”

Enjolras hesitated for a moment— if Grantaire had remembered, perhaps there was still a chance that he was not the only one.

“Do you think the others…?”

“I am the only one.” Grantaire said, his voice hollow, and Enjolras felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. 

“Are you positive?”

Grantaire looked up at him finally, Enjolras’ eyes must have betrayed the pathetic, naive, hopefulness he was feeling, as Grantaire sighed long and hard and looked away once more.

“Under the guise of a dream that had rattled me, I told them a long and detailed story of a group of young martyrs in Paris 30 years ago who thought they could change the world. I had thought I had gone mad for a moment when I woke, so I myself was careful not to make it seem like I believed my own story, but there were details ready for them to latch onto if they too had memories of June. They laughed or showed impatience at my ramblings, but none of them recognized their own stories in my retelling.” His voice cracked on this sentence, and he took a moment to clear his throat, “I had been a fool to hope that life would be kind enough to grant me one thing - that I could greet my friends in a reunited relief that would be met with equal enthusiasm. But they do not remember any of it, Enjolras. They lay in dust back in Paris and came to this world anew, fresh-born, fresh-souled, fresh-willed. They are not plagued by our memories.”

The confirmation of his fears hit Enjolras harder than he had expected them to. He understood in this moment how Grantaire had retreated back into a corner of cynicism and hopelessness. A part of him was tempted to entertain those thoughts that were threatening to emerge from the darkest depths of his doubts. Instead, he steeled himself, and was reminded of the reasonings he repeated to himself each night. He was here for a purpose, he had to be. Careful not to brush his pants against the rain soaked wall, he crouched down beside Grantaire where he sat, adjusting the umbrella in his hand slightly.

"I remember,” Enjolras assured him with a gentle tone. “We can find comfort in not being completely alone.”

Grantaire shook his head and the raindrops holding on to the ends of his curls finally found release as he did so. His face was anguished, and contorting as though he was holding back tears.

"I have so much aching in my chest but I feel as though I am not entitled to grieve. They died. _We_ died. But there's nothing that's been lost in this life. Our friends have different names but they are still here. I try to laugh with them as though it does not haunt me, I should be thanking the heavens for granting such a miracle, but each smile they send my way feels like a dagger in my heart. Who am I to be upset just for a name that has been lost? What can a man do with false memories of a sad life? Nothing brings me joy anymore. I am smiling one minute and excusing myself to cry as though I am a child the next. What do I do with it? With all the memories of a life I don’t have, or all the things I remember that don’t have a place in this world anymore?"

"I wish I had an answer for you," Enjolras said with genuine regret, looking downwards. "We will just have to work with what's been given to us today, and use our past mistakes to push us forward."

"I don't understand how you're able to keep going." He had lifted his eyes to meet Enjolras’, and the grief within them was shared and understood in silence.

The truth of the matter was that he'd been deliberately keeping himself preoccupied, deliberately not giving himself an inch of time to think of all the things that were plaguing the back of his mind. If he stopped for just a moment, he knew it would grow and manifest so strongly that he would be paralysed with a confused pain, just as Grantaire had been. Instead it sat looming in the recesses of his mind, threatening to emerge at any kind of slip up, it came to him at night when he was on the cusp of sleeping, and teased him in the shadows of his dreams. Enjolras pushed it further away once more as he gave him a sad smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes.

"If we do not have hope what else is there in this world to keep us tethered? How many people are granted a second chance?" Enjolras rose to his feet and extended his hand to Grantaire, offering it as though it were an olive branch. "We can allow ourselves to grieve when we have won."

For a moment it seemed that he might push him away, but after a pause, Grantaire extended his own hand and pressed it to Enjolras’, rising to his feet to meet him. He was hit with a strange feeling of Déjà vu. 

"You believe that it is fate for us to win this time?" Grantaire asked uncertainly, his voice still weak and raspy.

“It is why I was so frustrated when I saw you bemoan us when I know just how much you’re capable of.” It felt odd to compliment him when a lifetime ago he could only look towards him with disdain, but the pressed smile Grantaire met him with and the spark of hopefulness that flashed for just a moment behind his eyes told him he need not regret the decision. "Why else would we be here?" Enjolras said the very question that he'd been using to convince himself aloud, speaking the words into the universe to cement them into reality.

"Perhaps Death merely has a dark sense of humour," Grantaire offered.

Enjolras smiled, relieved to hear the usual sharpness of wit, always ready to strike returning to his voice.

"Perhaps by your fourth life, you could learn something other than cynicism."

"Why, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were attempting to make a joke," Grantaire smirked.

Enjolras felt himself smile genuinely for the first time since the first day he arrived, and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Nothing is impossible once you’ve fallen from the heavens.” 

Grantaire looked at him with an amused curiosity. “Now you’re waxing poetic metaphors about death, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“I meant it in the literal sense,” he replied with a frown.

“Monsieur Enjolras, far be it from me to doubt your ethereal soul, but are you telling me you fell from heaven to this world?”

Enjolras felt his cheeks flush slightly. “You did not?” he asked sheepishly.

At this Grantaire let out a loud and disbelieving laugh. “No, no I did not fall from the heavens. I merely died and woke up here. I suppose that journey is reserved for those who take care to believe in things.”

“I do not pretend to know how any of this works,” Enjolras said defensively, hoping to change the subject. “Will you help us succeed in this time?”

Grantaire hesitated for a moment before smiling up at Enjolras, a softness in his eyes. 

“Who am I to argue with a man who fell from the heavens?” Pressing his arm in comfort as he led him inside, Enjolras didn’t let the creeping dread that had lifted its head emerge, pressing it down with hard within himself, until there was no room for any doubt. 

* * *

For the next few days, Enjolras had a strange energy to him. It was something more than anticipation. As though adrenaline ran through his veins at every moment, he was constantly on edge and alert. Occasionally when he would get particularly antsy, Grantaire would pull him to one side. He did it under the guise of needing to talk to him about memories only they shared, but Enjolras had a suspicion it was to distract him from his spiral. Regardless - Enjolras was surprised to find himself grateful for his company. Their small conversations providing a needed relief and the knowledge that he was no longer alone with his memories was comforting.

The day before they were due to rise for their cause, Enjolras was particularly on edge, and Grantaire had approached him requesting he accompany him on a walk around the pavilion.

“Enjolras, did you venture to notice that dear Pontmercy is not with us?” Grantaire said as casually as though he was mentioning the weather.  
  
Enjolras whipped his head in both directions, as though the action would cause Marius to magically appear and prove Grantaire wrong. But now that he thought about it, nobody had mentioned him, even in passing.

“No.” Enjolras said with a gasp turning to Grantaire, who was grinning ear to ear. “You don’t think—?”

“If Pontmercy somehow miraculously survived the barricades and we did not, then the universe is more unfair than believed.”

“Marius survived?” Enjolras said with a wondrous awe.

“That, or he did something we did not do to gain entry into heaven. Repent perhaps?” Grantaire offered with a raised eyebrow, Enjolras rolled his eyes in his direction.

“I suppose this is something we should celebrate.” Enjolras said in an unsure tone. 

“Nonsense,” Grantaire said brushing him off. “We should all be miserable together or not at all.”

By the time they had circled back to the building, his spirits had risen. Perhaps if Marius had survived there was hope for them yet. For the first time since he arrived when he retired to bed, his nervous anticipation became excited, and he dared himself to believe that they could succeed, that this was the reason he was here, to right the wrongs of the last life and turn his failure into success.

* * *

On the first day, they rose with a glorious demonstration, organized and direct. Enjolras’ attention to detail was able to prevent several errors that would have resulted in the death of his friends. Combeferre narrowly avoided being trampled by the crowd by taking advantage of a strategy Enjolras devised if such a situation would occur. By the end of the first night, his friends held the blockade strong and alive in spirits. Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief that they were alive at all. Grantaire was present not in battle but in the background, whenever Enjolras needed an understanding nod or a press of his shoulder, he seemed to appear from the shadows, as though he knew when Enjolras was at his weakest. Enjolras slept for the first night with a rising hope in his chest, counting his friends faces in the blockade as he fell asleep.

But, despite his precautions and planning, despite every error he had spotted, they were ruthlessly outnumbered by the third day.

  
  
Jehan was the first to fall, followed shortly by Courfeyrac and Joly. By the time Feuilly was shot, Enjolras knew it was too late, and that he had failed once again.

“No.” is all he can manage to say aloud. _I don’t understand._ Is what he kept repeating in his thoughts.

He had believed he had done everything correctly this time, he had learned from his past mistakes, and yet more of them gathered, splintered at his feet. His failures stained with blood and grief. Their faces all ran through his mind, past and present as Bossuet’s bloodied hand brushed the tip of his boot as he fell beside him. 

  
Why had he been brought here again if not to complete his destiny correctly?

The light of the setting sun struck the thick stains of blood in his clothing, though indistinguishable from one another, he knew they belonged to each different friend he had failed. The familiar call of a new day dawning, new hope arising with the sun, was just hours away and yet completely out of reach. 

He would die with the day, just as he had before. He could hear them rising on the steps, their shouts, their orders, the call for his execution. To face death a second time, he had not expected to be frightened, but somehow his failure felt harder to accept this time. Turning away from the window, he saw the uniforms of his fellow man. An enemy on paper, his brothers in his heart. 

How had it all gone wrong, again?

He barely heard their call to aim at him, but he heard the voice that broke through their orders:

“Wait! I am with him.”

Grantaire had come to die by his side once more, and although Enjolras had been half expecting it, he was nonetheless relieved by his presence. The world between worlds was cold and lonely, but at least before he’d be there he would have a friend by his side.

Grantaire was halfway to the window when the bullets stopped him in place, tearing through Grantaire as suddenly as they came, he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground at Enjolras’ feet. Enjolras did not have time for the shock to wear off him, or comprehend what he had seen, he had but a moment to look down at Grantaire’s body before looking up once more at the guns that were being reloaded and facing him. A spattering of gold exploded from the blackness of the guns barrel, and the pain of dying was nothing compared to the pain of the ruin lying beneath him, the failure of defeat replaced the blood within his body.

He reached out weakly, his red stained hands reminding him vaguely of spilled wine. He was struggling to catch his breath, but he took great care in his final moments to entwine his fingers around Grantaire’s still hands. Hoping illogically that if he could tie himself to his physical being, he could tie himself to his soul in the next life too.

The blackness was everlasting, devastatingly cold and lonely. He had no body, no consciousness, and yet he could feel a pain stronger than a physical manifestation. He could feel the spectre of death around him, but it did not speak. Just as a thousand years and no time at all had passed at once, the spectre was no longer present, and the black turned to blue, then white, and buildings formed beneath him once more. He did not brace for impact this time, however he took care to close his eyes as he fell into another form that eagerly awaited life to be breathed into it.

He welcomed the darkness once more. For it was kinder than the reality of failure.


	2. Thinking, Willing, Living and Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras struggles to come to terms with yet another failure. To die once was a second chance, to die twice is a curse. Grantaire has large promises, but struggles to uphold them. A deal is made between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,
> 
> as promised chapter two, on Wednesday.
> 
> I'm not sure what the uploading schedule will be like from here on out, I will try to aim to upload a new chapter every two weeks - three weeks. But we'll see, life and all that. :)
> 
> In any rate, I look forward to hearing your thoughts.
> 
> Researching things for this chapter was fun. Did you know they first used the word concussion in the 16th century? Wild.  
> |  
> Enjoy~

_ This must be a dream. _

It did not matter how many times the words were repeated in his head, or how tightly he clasped his eyes shut, or how desperate his reasonings became, he knew that his eyes would eventually open, and the cruel reality would be clear around him, and taunt him with his failures. So there he stayed, wrapped around himself, tightly as though he was a cold and shivering child, shutting the world away from his vision and pushing all thoughts away. He was too exhausted for new memories, new names, new faces. He didn’t want to learn any of them, as they would be a reminder of all that he had lost.

He was unable to keep them at bay very long, they eventually came to him in a violent crash. The memories of blood on a broken barricade and bodies lying in the pavilion flashed before him and an unbearable nausea overcame him. 

_ Get up. _

His mind was telling him to move, to get on with the life that he had woken into, to push aside the memories of failure and death and to embrace a new world with new opportunities, but his body refused to listen. Tenacious and stubborn, it seemed as though it could not move from the curled up position he was currently holding. His fingers gripped tightly at the linen beneath his fingers. 

He could hear rain pattering against the window, but he kept his eyes closed tight. Perhaps if he could keep them closed, he could fall asleep and wake in a time that felt familiar. One with far less tragic consequences and a carefree life. But he knew even if he awoke in Paris 60 years ago, his life would end the same way it had previously. Despite his failures, the fire inside him sparked wildy, perhaps even more so than before. He was  _ angry _ at this world and all the ones that came before it. To live between lives and to have the knowledge that nothing had been done from then to now, that people across nations still suffered under the hand of royalty and injustice lit the embers beneath him.

_ Get up. _

He urged himself more fiercely than before. There was work to do, his friends would be waiting soon and just as he was ready to throw the sheets off of his body, that knowledge sent a crushing helplessness inside his chest and a violent sick to his stomach. He couldn’t move, the sickening feeling within him threatening to burst, if he moved now he would not make it to the shared amenities in his complex. He clasped his eyes tighter, catching his breath and pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, a trick his mother had taught him once when he was a child. More placebo than an actual remedy, but still it brought him comfort. It was then he realized with a bleak sadness that he couldn’t picture his mother’s face in his mind. In Paris he had become so lost within the cause and his plans that letters she had sent him stayed open and half read on his bureau, more of a chore than a pleasure to write his replies. He wondered if she visited his residence after his death, if she saw the half finished drafts he wrote in the form of replies but abandoned for a greater duty, or if she was too distraught to visit herself, sending a servant in her place, had she become ashamed of him? Of the reasons he had died? Had she given him a poor man's funeral and disowned him amongst her community to keep her reputation?

Despite the fact that her face had disappeared from his memories, her address was still clear within his mind. But she herself was surely dead too by now. That thought shouldn’t have given him grief, it was only logical to assume with the passing of time and her age at his death that she would not have lived another sixty years. Yet despair still grappled him deep within. It suddenly hit him that almost everybody he had known in Paris was dead now. Every face he’d passed in the street, every hand he’d ever shook in greeting, every infrequent friend or older relative. An agonizing pain sent painful shivers throughout his nerves, his entire body was suddenly on fire, aching for something he couldn’t have, a pain he did not know how to remedy. He could have tried to reach out to somebody in the last life, it would not have been too late then— but it was now. It was far too late.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, lost within the agonizing torment of his own thoughts and chastising his fruitless actions, over and over again. His mistakes seemed too evident to him now in hindsight, how had he been so foolish to have not seen them at the time? He urged himself to leave the bed, to make it right in this life, to create a world that would erase the failures of his past. But he was paralysed within his bed. 

A loud rapping on his door frame jolted his nerves awake. His eyes opened finally, the small room around him oddly familiar and yet so alien to him at the same time.

The sharp knock came again. Followed by a concerned shout. 

“Enjolras?”

_ Grantaire _ . The knowledge that Grantaire still remembered his old name made him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. The tension within his body slowly released. 

“Come in.” He shouted back, his voice was raspy and weak, and he still did not make an effort to rise from the bed.

He had pride enough to know that he likely shouldn’t allow for anybody to see him in this state, that sensing weakness or defeat within a leader would surely cause morale to fall. But for once he was grateful that Grantaire had no beliefs or convictions. You couldn’t cause doubt in a person who never believed in the first place. Perhaps if it was somebody else he would have sent them away. Instead he curled himself tighter within himself.

“I have been sent to fetch you!” He shouted back from the entrance, his cheery demeanour surreal and out of place within the festering grief within Enjolras’ heart. “There was worry amongst our friends, but I assured them you were likely losing track of time locked away and planning -”

Enjolras shut his eyes once more as Grantaire stood in the doorway of his bedroom, clearly his pride still had limits, even when it came to Grantaire, who clearly had not expected to see him in this state. The small pause of silence was unbearable to him. His cheeks burning in protest to being seen this way. Pathetic and small and scared of a world he wasn’t ready to face.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said softly, Enjolras could tell by the direction of his voice that he had crouched down right to his side. “We are alive again.”

“I know.” Enjolras said. How could he explain to him that that was the problem? That there was something inside of him that could accept this but not the gravity of what it meant? “Are you not concerned that we are alive again?”

“I would be more concerned if we were dead, I should think.” 

Enjolras opened his eyes to see the new world’s Grantaire. His face had not changed much from the last, uncomely with mismatched features and the same mischievous eyes that were undeniably Grantaire, seeing him brought a sense of relief. Like a familiar landmark to look to when lost. But something about his appearance made Enjolras knit his eyebrows in confusion.

“You’re not wet?” He asked, confused. Grantaire’s dimples softened as his smile turned to a concerned frown. 

“The rain stopped an hour ago.”

Enjolras hummed a reply of understanding, rolling onto his back and sighing as he stared at the tiled roof above him. Having him here made it easier to not stay in one place, however he still could not bring himself to rise from the bed and start the day.

“Perhaps I will join you tomorrow.”

“Or you may join us within the next few hours when the restaurant reopens.” Grantaire said as he moved from his crouched position to the end of the bed, hesitating before deciding to sit on the end of it. “I do enjoy this country's tradition to close midday for rest. Early to rise, late to eat and time to rest in between. Despite the issues we’re facing, they truly have this part of life figured out in terms of rest and indulgences. I think you should add this to your agenda no matter which life we travel to. Mandatory closure during the day so we can each take a break to revive ourselves. It’s a fresh start without a new day dawning.”

“You think there will be other lives after this one?” The thought had been on Enjolras’ mind since waking, it was partly why he found it so hard to rise. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep going if his destiny was to continue to fail.

When he moved his eyes to Grantaire’s direction, he was looking at him with an unspoken perceptiveness, as though he saw right past the innocent curiousness in his tone and straight to the scared and desperate uncertainty within him. He hated being perceived this way - vulnerable and unsure. His usual unwavering confidence lost amongst his grief and weaknesses. He wanted to hide away again, to close his eyes and disappear beneath the sheets. But as quickly as his eyes’ met Grantaires, as though he knew his thoughts, his expression changed to that of an easy smile.

“Not if we join the others this evening and get this one right.” Grantaire’s eyes shone and for a moment Enjolras could have believed him. “I will make a deal with you: I’ll wait with you until you are ready to rise, be it later this evening of the morn of the morrow. I am positive the idea of having to bear my company for so long will urge you to break free of this bed, sooner rather than later. In exchange, I shall venture to know the ins and outs of this uprising, and go against my own philosophies and soul to help you succeed. You may even make a revolutionary of me yet.”

  
Enjolras considered him for a moment. The last life was one thing, Grantaire was not exactly active in his participation, but his background support helped Enjolras in times he needed to turn to somebody who truly understood what he was going through— however when Grantaire had last tried to truly help in Paris, he had been tempted by dominoes and fallen into old habits and had not rallied the marble-workers, painters and journeyman at Barriere Du Maine, despite knowing the importance of their support. It was not a pleasant memory, and the words that followed after were still firmly within his mind. But firmer still was Grantaire’s reply.  _ You will see _ . He was here now, and perhaps it was all words to convince him to rise and face the day, but Enjolras considered their greater meaning nonetheless.

“Alright then.” Enjolras agreed, trying not to let his mistrust slide into his tone. Grantaire smiled widely in return, and reached for something within his vest and procured two brown brochures.

“It is a good thing you agreed, or picking up this reading material would have been an awful waste.”

Enjolras sat up slightly, as Grantaire tossed him one. The pamphlet in his fingertips was rough and handwritten, with eye catching phrases and attention grabbing lettering. 

_ Avoid the ruin of Argentina. Bring Down a government that represents illegality and corruption. Remove those in power who have wrought the disgrace of the republic. _

“This feels awfully familiar,” Enjolras said with a sigh and moving a hand to his head, the tightness in his chest returning suddenly.

“It should,” Grantaire replied, flipping through his own pamphlet. “According to Courfeyrac, you wrote it.”

Enjolras had not been talking about the brochure, but now that he was turning it over in his hands he felt a vague familiarity from it. He straightened his back as he reread the words that laid out their demands and goals.

“I must get it right this time, Grantaire. I have to. I owe it to everybody. Not just our friends, but the people. I can’t keep failing them, for them to continue to live under tyranny due to my errors is unjust.” As he looked up to meet his eyes, Enjolras saw a brief internal struggle brewing in Grantaire. “Do you disagree?”

Grantaire shook his head before tilting it slightly, carefully considering his words before replying. He sighed before he looked to him, his expression unsure. “Enjolras, perhaps the problem doesn’t lie within you or your actions. But within the cruel nature of an unready world, unwilling to change.”

“If I were ever to believe that I would never leave this bed.” Enjolras replied defiantly, crossing his arms. For some reason this made Grantaire laugh, his expression softened as he looked towards him. For the first time since he arrived, Enjolras returned the smile to him. He wasn’t sure if it was his words of his company, but by the time late afternoon fell and their meeting room would be reopening, he had dressed and become passionate and eager to begin planning more.

Taking a brief moment to check his reflection in the window pane, Enjolras paused briefly, not at the unfamiliar face that stared back at him, but at the black raven watching him, perched on a branch on the jacaranda tree outside of his window. He must have made a small noise in his throat as he watched it, still and staring, as in a moment Grantaire had joined his side, watching it too.

“Hello old friend,” he said with an almost sickly sweet tone. Enjolras looked towards him curiously, there was a pressed smile upon his face but his brows were knitted and his eyes narrowed. Noticing his confused expression, Grantaire answered his unspoken question. “It’s him.”

“Him?” Enjolras queried.

“Death — I am sure.” Grantaire replied, his face had grown stony, and his tone gravely serious. If this was a jest, Enjolras did not understand it. Sensing his confusion, Grantaire continued. “Did you not notice him in the pavilion in the last life? He followed us wherever we walked. He would watch us from the window in the back room. Never leaving our company.”

Enjolras sincerely doubted that death would take such a mortal form just to watch them, especially given how strongly he felt it’s presence in the world between worlds. But Grantaire seemed to not be joking.

“Are you on such familiar terms that you call him ‘old friend’?” Enjolras asked as a smile spread across his face.

“It is only an ironic title,” Grantaire explained, upon catching Enjolras’ expression he cleared his throat and hurried to leave the room. “Come, the revolution awaits.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the seriousness of his tone when speaking of such a ridiculous thing, but Enjolras found something amusing about the knowledge that Grantaire believed in something he did not. Clearly noticing Enjolras’ enjoyment, Grantaire was quick to change the subject as they walked.

“I am aware you are not comfortable taking a back step to others, but you should know that I was quite under the impression that Courfeyrac may be taking a more demanding role in this life.”

Enjolras pondered on this for a while, silent as they walked in tandem. There was a part of him that needed to speak his mind, and another part of him that did not want to speak his deepest thoughts to Grantaire. Despite his presence being an odd and unexpectant comfort, there was still a part of him that wanted to hold him at an arm's length. Always slightly uncomfortable in his presence alone, as though there was something unsaid that was lingering, he felt as though he had no right to speak so honestly to somebody who he perceived was mocking him so long ago. But Grantaire was trying, and he had been there when needed, and that had to count for something. Enjolras decided to speak his mind.

“If I am being honest, that is a relief,” he replied.

“It is?” Grantaire sounded surprised, his step faltering slightly.

“Yes,” Enjolras said firmly. “Perhaps taking a step back will allow me to see what the real issue is from the outside. It may be what I need to fix what is wrong.”

Grantaire shook his head beside him, but did not speak another word. They reached their meeting place in silence for the rest of the journey, and Enjolras was relieved to find that it was not uncomfortable to be in his presence without words.

* * *

Courfeyrac, as it turned out, was a natural leader. His boisterous charisma and sense of humour struck a chord amongst the people that Enjolras had never been able to master. He enjoyed watching him speak to the everyman, his laugh carrying across the room. Enjolras wondered if he was the ingredient that was missing in the original revolution. Sure he had contributed greatly, but perhaps putting him at center, and as a leader would have been what was needed for their numbers to rise. The warmth of his company was enough to encourage even the coldest of hearts to rally around him, his sunny disposition leaving those that basked in his presence always wanting more,

There was still a large amount of work for Enjolras to do as his right hand man, and he found himself in the same situation as he was in his last life  — spending his nights rifling through their papers and information and finding weaknesses and errors in every page.    
  
Despite the deal they had made to get Enjolras out of bed, Grantaire seemed to forget his words the moment they arrived at the building, unconcerned of the progress of their cause he kept himself out of the way of the rest of the group’s activities for the most part. Taking joy in the company of his friends and allowing them to do their duties as needed. Enjolras wasn’t sure whether or not they had struck a balance between their differing desires or if he was merely keeping himself too busy to care about the broken promise, but for the most part, he ignored the small voice in the back of the mind that told him to bring Grantaire forward and insist he contribute. He already leant on him enough in times when he needed an ear to vent all of his worries to, and Grantaire would almost instantly come to his aid, bouncing memories and wit off of Enjolras’ worries, as though he was a mere observer of their cruel fate and not an active participant in it. For some unknown reason, Enjolras found comfort in Grantaire’s unwavering nonchalance towards their situation. Although he did not pretend to understand why.

Until one night, when his distractions were no longer unavoidable.

It had transpired just like so many others before it, with too many shared bottles amongst friends and too many loud words spoken.

Enjolras had learned well how to tune out the background noise of the corner table, a rotating cast of familiar faces would sit by Grantaire’s side and keep his company, each night a different friend or multiple that needed company and a break from their efforts would join him, and he would always greet them with enthusiasm. Some nights when the comradery had died down from a fevered buzz to a tired hum, and most of the room and Grantaire’s bottles had emptied, Enjolras would join him at the table. They rarely spoke in these times, Enjolras too focused and Grantaire too drunk, but they shared a silent bond by each other's side.

It was when the night was still young, and the room full of vigor and excited chortles that it happened, Enjolras was discussing with Courfeyrac the recent failed attempt to depose the government in another city in a hushed tone. He had just gotten word that Lavalle Square had been crushed by opposing forces, and if they wanted to keep the people's interest and spirits they’d need to act fast. It wouldn’t take long for them too to be repressed if they didn’t strike soon. They may possibly lose their allies due to fear the longer the news travelled.

“Three days time,” Courfeyrac decided with a knitted brow. “We won’t have much for ammunition but there will still be anger over the square, enough to hopefully overrule any doubts that downfall has caused.”

“You don’t think it should be tomorrow? Whilst the branding stick burns hot on the heels of injustice?” Enjolras asked, with a hand on his chin, Courfeyrac breathed a quick burst of laughter, gone as soon as it came. “I appreciate the enthusiasm but it will take a whole day for us just to find enough bullets to arm each man.”

Enjolras nodded, ignoring the slight uneasiness that came with his answer.

“If we can convince Leandro’s men to join us-”

A loud crash interrupted them from the corner of the room, Enjolras immediately whipped his head around to the area, as Courfeyrac clutched at his chest. “What on earth happened?” Enjolras heard him shout as he was already halfway across the room.

The crowd around the broken table seemed immediately sober and concerned. They parted slightly as Enjolras approached to make room for him revealing Joly crouched beside a fallen Grantaire, sprawled out on the ground with his eyes closed tight, Enjolras felt his chest go tight as he noticed the obtrusion on the side of his head and the blood that came from it.

“Stay still,” Joly was saying, his face pale and concerned. “Will someone fetch me a pale of boiled water and a cloth?”

“I’m fine!” Grantaire said defensively as he opened his eyes and attempted to sit up, a small trickle of blood made its way down to his ear.

“No, Néstor. You may have a concussion. We must hurry to warm your feet.”

“Honestly Joly, I am fine.”

Enjolras drew a sharp breath at the name, Joly turned to Combeferre and shared a troubled look and rose, taking a few steps to the side to talk in a hushed tone, it seemed as though Grantaire had not realized his slip of the tongue as he moved his sleeve to wipe at the blood on his ear. Enjolras took a step towards where his friends had shuffled too.

“He seems delirious, we should call upon the doctor.”

“It is late, we may not reach him. The noise of the room may not be helping, let him rest somewhere quiet for the night.”

“If he’s shaken his brain-”

“-then he would not be speaking full sentences. Try to relax Jose, I am sure he will be alright come the morning. He just needs a quiet room.”

“I can take him home,” Enjolras said suddenly, Joly turned to him surprised at the interruption. He looked towards Grantaire, who was being helped up by Bahorel into a chair. 

“You will?” He asked uncertainly as he bit his lip. Enjolras could tell he was still debating internally whether or not to call on the doctor.

“I was already on my way out for the night,” he lied, although unsure if it was totally necessary to do so. It would not be unrealistic of him to help his friend even if it was out of the way. But was Grantaire his friend here? He certainly considered him so, but if the others saw their dynamic as the same it had been in Paris then perhaps it would be considered out of character. Regardless, Enjolras was worried not just for his state, but that Grantaire would slip up on another word in his confusion, and who knew what else he would say once he started talking. “I can make sure he arrives home safe.”

It took another few minutes of reassurance from Combeferre that a doctor wasn’t necessary before Joly relented and eventually agreed to let Grantaire merely retire for the night. 

“Do not let him drink anymore.” Combeferre insisted.

Enjolras explained to Courfeyrac that he would return the next day, taking a portfolio of papers with him as he left the table and walked back over to where Grantaire was still sitting. He was quiet now, the bleeding had already stopped and been cleaned up by Joly, revealing a small cut where the impact had landed. He was still holding his palm to the place below where his head had made contact with the ground, applying a small amount of pressure. Joly was giving him care instructions to follow through with in the morning, although judging by the blank look on Grantaire’s face it was clear they would not be remembered.

“Here,” Enjolras said, extending his arm, “I’ll take you home.”

For a moment it seemed as though Grantaire was going to argue with him, but after casting his protesting eyes to an uncharacteristically stern looking Joly, he merely averted his gaze, nodded and took it. His hand was loose in the crook of Enjolras’ arm, clearly not worried about his balance or ability to walk. Enjolras felt a strong urge to tell him to tighten his grip, but decided against it as they walked outside of the building. Having Grantaire be so uncharacteristically quiet was unnerving to say the least. Even when he was close to sleeping he always had more words to say. 

“What happened?” Enjolras asked him after he could not bear the silence any longer. They were well past the earshot of their friends and any words spoken in error now would not be questioned.

“I believe I was trying to perform an impression,” Grantaire replied in a small voice, almost ashamed. 

“Of who?”

“I can’t recall,” Grantaire said slowly.

This worried Enjolras slightly. They made their way down the busy street lit with nightlife and high spirits and voices. The night was still relatively young, it was a lot earlier than he was used to departing and the locals were bustling with laughter, drinks in hand and seemingly no cares about them. It was strange to him that a world like this existed outside of theirs and yet was so close at the same time. Carefree and focused only on the night, never looking to the future, something he had never been able to let go and participate in. He felt he was a stranger here, the architecture seemed alien to him, the faces unfamiliar, it was a lonely feeling to be surrounded by a world that would never truly know him, but one that he would fight for anyway. Instinctively he had reached his right hand across to where Grantaire’s hand was holding onto his arm and pressed it to his sleeve, telling him without words to hold on tighter. He felt his grip firm around him, and was grateful that he had not pulled away. Perhaps he felt the loneliness too.

“I think I may have been impersonating you,” Grantaire said after they had turned the corner.

“I don’t stand on tables!” he objected.

“No? Perhaps you should. It might draw more attention to your cause.” Grantaire shot a smile at him, a hint of his old energy returning to his tone.

“It would certainly draw attention if I made the spectacle you did.”

To his surprise, Grantaire laughed at this. A sound which made him all the more relieved. 

“Perhaps not the best strategy in that case.”

“Perhaps not.” Enjolras stopped suddenly in his tracks, causing Grantaire to pull slightly at him as he stepped forward. 

“Oh.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been walking towards where I live.” Enjolras said apologetically, cursing his mistake inwardly. “Where do you live?”

Grantaire had to think for a moment, his hand dropping from Enjolras arm as they stood on the road. Enjolras felt an instinct to reach back for it, but ignored it as he watched him think. He clearly did not need the help anymore.

“I don’t know. I mean, I know. I know how to get there.” He looked around at their surroundings. “Just not from here.”

Enjolras thought for a moment. If they circled back it would take them at least another quarter hour to get back to the restaurant, and then he assumed another or longer to reach wherever Grantaire was residing. Joly had stressed the importance of rest, and he was looking more confused by the minute as he tried to think of his address.

“Stay with me,” Enjolras said suddenly, walking forward to leave no room for argument.

“With you?” Grantaire asked, his tone was more high pitched then usual, a sign that Enjolras took to mean he was beginning to grow weary.

“Yes. I am just a block away.” He turned around waiting for Grantaire to follow, but he stayed in place. A strange look had passed over his face, Enjolras worried that he had reached his limit for the journey or that his legs would give out at any moment.

“I think I may be fine to walk alone. The journey isn’t far and-”

“-if Joly discovers I’d left you to collapse alone, I’d be dead before the uprising begins.” Enjolras said impatiently, closing the space between them and tugging at his arm. “Come. You may have the bed.”

Grantaire followed him reluctantly. The strange quietness that they had began their journey with encompassing them again as they reached its end. Enjolras took his silence in his stride, confident he had made the right decision for Grantaire’s health. By the time they reached his home, Grantaire was looking pale and sickly.

“Sleep,” Enjolras insisted after Grantaire spent a minute hovering in his bedroom doorway. To his surprise, Grantaire did not argue with him, turning around and heading to the bed. Enjolras poured water from the pitcher on his counter into a small clay mug, before he moved into the bedroom too. Placing it beside him on the chair that doubled as a nightstand. By the time he turned around to ask Grantaire how he was feeling, he was surprised to see him already asleep, his breathing deep and steady.

Grantaire slept soundly through the night, a quiet and heavy sleep that was deep enough to concern him. Enjolras found himself checking on him close to every hour. Relieved to see his chest rise and fall, and departing once more to study the information he had taken with him from Courfeyrac. Eventually he grew tired of the short journey back and forth. His bed was large enough for two bodies, and Grantaire was lying on his side close to the edge of the mattress. Gathering the papers he had before him, he sat upright on the other side of the bed. He found himself able to focus more when he was able to hear Grantaire’s sleeping breaths beside him, catching his attention every so often when he would make a small movement or noise.

It was the early hours of the morning when he shifted in his place, turning onto his back and groaning, his hands finding his head in what Enjolras could only assume was to provide pressure on an ache that needed relief.    
  


“How is your head?” Enjolras asked once he seemed sufficiently awake.

Graintaire stilled at the sound of his voice, slowly moving his hands down his face and blinking a few times, before looking towards him. With his sleep tousled hair and crinkled shirt he looked as though he had been dragged through a river. He seemed confused by his surroundings as he slowly sat up.

“Terrible,” he replied finally. “I cannot recall the fall but I can remember the worst expression I have ever seen on Joly’s face.”

“Do you recall calling him Joly?”

Grantaire thought for a moment. 

“No,” he said finally. “Probably best that I didn’t stay long after.” Grantaire took the mug that was placed on the chair and began to drink its contents slowly. His actions seemed careful and deliberate.

“You should go back to resting,” Enjolras implored him, watching him as he moved.

“Impossible. The pounding in my head would simply not allow that now,” Grantaire said as he placed a hand on his head and laid back against the pillow. “In any case, do not allow my presence to keep you awake.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping,” Enjolras replied, not looking up from the papers in his hand.

Enjolras felt Grantaire shift beside him, the closeness of his legs emitting an uncomfortable heat.

“Ever?” Grantaire asked, his tone was teasing, but when Enjolras glanced down at him he could see there was concern on his face. Enjolras absentmindedly rubbed his hand on the nape of his neck, ignoring the ache that lingered there.

“I prefer to put it off as long as I am able to.”

“If you are waiting for death to come before you allow yourself rest I am afraid you may be awake a while.” 

“You can chastise my habits when you find me fallen from a table,” Enjolras retorted, turning his attention back to the document he was perusing and missing the expression that passed over Grantaire’s face. He was silent for a while, and though Enjolras could only see him out of the corner of his eye, it was almost as though he could feel his mind whirring, a silent distraction that led him to read the same sentence several times without taking any of its substance in.

"Some vices are more outwardly harmful than others, I grant you that," Grantaire said slowly. "But one could argue that private habits being behind locked doors are equally troublesome to the mind."

"Will  _ one _ try to argue that?" Enjolras asked tersely, his mouth twisting in a frown and his shoulders tensing defensively.

"No, but one  _ could _ ." Grantaire said, and Enjolras could feel his smirk etched on his words without having to look over at his expression. Grantaire waited for some time to pass before speaking again. "Why aren't you sleeping?" 

Enjolras sighed, placing the papers down on his lap and shifting slightly to face him.

"The longer I am awake the longer I can check every detail. If I miss something important because I was busy dreaming I would not be able to forgive myself." Grantaire hummed a noise of understanding, but Enjolras sensed an unspoken skepticism, and the longer the silence went on the more it irked him. "My dreams have not exactly been something I want to visit at length recently," He admitted finally, averting his gaze as he did so. Although there was nothing shameful about having unpleasant visions within dreams, saying it aloud felt like admitting a weakness.

Grantaire sat up slowly into a half leaning half sitting position, his head propped up and resting on his palm. 

"I tend to forget my dreams," he said quietly. "It helps if my mind is too swimming and sore in the morning to dwell on what might have been reality. I find the more my head hurts the less I can remember. Often for the better. Perhaps we both need to cut back on our bad habits and just embrace it."

"You would give up the drink if I agreed to sleep a decent amount?" Enjolras asked him with an air of disbelief.

Grantaire shrugged, a conflicted look flickering over his face briefly.

"Perhaps we both just need to face it for it to pass."

Enjolras pondered what he was proposing, a debate was brewing in his mind about what would be better for their situation. To keep the peace or to challenge it? It would certainly be easier to take the easy words without follow through, but Enjolras had never been one to avoid something just because it was the harder option.

“The last deal we struck didn’t take long to break,” he said, looking at Grantaire carefully.

“No, it did not.” Grantaire sighed and turned onto his back. “But to change a habit may be an easier task than to change a man.”

Enjolras considered him for a long time. It did not just seem like it was the right thing to do but the necessary thing, whether they were to continue living here or in another life he was sure Grantaire would not last much longer if he continued to behave in this destructive way. If what was needed for that change to take place was a sacrifice from him, then he believed it was his duty to accept.

“Alright then.” Enjolras agreed, turning back to the paper in his hand. “Tomorrow.”

  
  


* * *

Courfeyrac was an unyielding beacon of positive energy over the next few days. He spent his charm recruiting those who stayed teetering on the fence, rallied their existing members and delegated last minute duties to almost every man.

Grantaire’s deal could not have come at a more appropriate time, he found himself needing the sleep more than he had ever needed it before. Although if he had pushed himself he would have been capable of maintaining his regular hours, he was grateful he was not doing so. Although the nightmarish visions of death and blood that came to him when he closed his eyes were not as welcome, they were long forgotten by the time he had busied himself in the day. Although he could not stay by Grantaire’s side each hour of the day, the table in the corner of the room was empty every time he glanced over. He had not had a spare minute to check in with him, but on the small occasions they had exchanged brief conversation, Grantaire’s voice and eyes seemed clear and focused, if not very weary.

There was an hour before the call to rise, and Enjolras had spent the better part of the hour before looking for Grantaire. When he asked around, it seemed that nobody knew. Enjolras had a brief moment of panic wondering if he had abandoned them, but calmed himself quickly after that thought. He was more likely distracted elsewhere. Still, he found himself anxious without his company.

“I need you to go down to the cellar,” Courfeyrac asked him suddenly. “We are not supposed to know this but I was told there is an old case of bullets stashed behind the used barrels. If we somehow survive this I will promise to reimburse our good landlady.”

“I’ll find them.” Enjolras replied, Courfeyrac barely heard his reply, already rushing off to delegate another task.

He had never ventured into the cellar of the restaurant before. It was supposed to be off limits to even them, the group the widowed landlady made many exceptions for. She was kind and trusting, maybe too much for her own good, Enjolras pushed the door open without any kind of lock blocking his way. He descended the steps in a hurried fashion, checking over his shoulder to make sure he was not noticed. The barrels were stacked three atop each other directly below the stairs. It was a tight fit for him, sliding his body in an awkward half crouched position, as he turned sideways and slipped his hand behind them, feeling blindly without a light. It took a few repositions and a good few minutes, but his hand finally made contact with the dusty case. Using two fingers to slide it towards the stairs, he finally held the bullets in his hand.    
  
Rising and wiping his brow he was surprised to feel himself out of breath and sat upon the bottom step to slow his breathing. Suddenly, his ears pricked up as he heard a small clink followed by a soft thud. He rose slowly, wondering if the landlady was down there with him and he took a few tentative steps forward. A large shelf of liquors was blocking the other half of the room and he approached it from an angle, a figure was sitting at a small table in the back of the room.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked as he walked into the light. “I was searching for you. What are you doing down here?”

“Enjolras! I just thought I would take a quick minute alone.” Grantaire was clearly caught off guard by his sudden appearance, and flashed him a smile that left much too quickly, as though he was hiding something.

Enjolras took note of the empty bottles of hesperidin on the table, of the candied orange scent around him, and of the lightest slur to Grantaire's tone. He ran a hand through his hair in a tired frustration. A wave of disappointment washed over him as he took in the scene.

"Just so we are understood," he said carefully, trying not to raise his tone. "I did keep my end of the bargain. I am beginning to think I cannot rely on you."

Grantaire looked down to his hands, his shoulders slumping, before he looked back up at Enjolras under hooded eyes. 

"Perhaps that is the right assumption to come to." He sounded defeated when he finally spoke.

Enjolras sighed, pulling the seat before him out from the table and sitting opposite Grantaire.

"You understand that's not something I wish to believe, correct?" 

Grantaire only turned his eyes away from him once more. 

"Grantaire," Enjolras pressed. "I want us to be able to rely on each other. You are the only one I have to turn to. I do not want to grow to despise you, I want you to do the things I know you are capable of."

When Grantaire finally looked up, Enjolras was shocked to see his eyes wet, reddened by the tears that were threatening to fall.

"I did try, you know?" He said in a small voice, one so unfamiliar to Enjolras that he felt as though he was witnessing something secret or private, something that he did not have a closeness or right to see.

"I believe you." He found himself saying, although it was something he would have doubted a mere moment ago, he found himself sincere in his words. Whatever Grantaire's faults, he believed he could be honest. Some would say too much so. 

Enjolras rose to leave, he hesitated for a moment before extending his hand to Grantaire.

“Come with me?” Enjolras asked him. Grantaire rose too, taking his offer wordlessly, and following him a step behind.

* * *

The repression occurred swiftly, the government clearly prepared for a second revolt they squandered them at all corners. Their plans appeared disorganized and rushed amongst the chaos, despite their best efforts it seemed fruitless from the very start. Yet Enjolras still held out hope, he had not learned of any of his friends' deaths so far, and as long as they were here amongst him, no matter how brutal the battle became, he considered it a victory.   
  
Tying a tourniquet around Bahorel’s leg as he lay swearing and restless in the Piedad, he barely heard Courfeyrac’s hurried approach. 

“We have word from Leandro,” he was saying as he caught his breath. “They cannot spare any men but they can spare some ammunition.”

“We are in desperate need of it,” Bahorel said through clenched teeth as he gripped his thigh.

“Where is it?” Enjolras asked, hiding his shaking hands within a cloth as he wiped them.

“Two blocks away,” Courfeyrac replied grimly. 

“They could send a man with a message but no ammunition with him?” Enjolras was speaking his frustration aloud, the issue immediately clear to him. To cross the blockade and back without coming face to face with government soldiers would be near impossible.

“His messenger did not make it,” Courfeyrac replied, a strange look passing over his face, it was then that Enjolras noticed the blood stains on his shirt. “He dropped the ammunition he was carrying halfway here.”

Bahorel cursed, lifting himself into an upright position, Enjolras considered the information carefully. A decision formed swiftly in his mind. It was better for him to go first, maybe if he were to go before any of the others than that would be the way to succeed. 

“Where did it fall?” He asked finally.

“Just past the blockade, two doors before where the soldiers have made camp,” Courfeyrac said, and they shared a bleak look between them.

Enjolras stood and looked above the small sanctuary they had built, just as he did so a raven passed over them, spreading its wings as it circled them, before perching itself upon a nearby roof. He eyed it briefly before turning to Courfeyrac, ready to accept the task. But he found himself turned around as a body brushed against his back, confused he turned to see Grantaire, determinedly climbing the blockade with an agility he had not thought possible.

“Wait!” Enjolras called to him, Grantaire looked back at him a moment, waiting for him to speak again, but Enjolras felt his words of confusion lost within his throat. 

“You rely on this, yes?” Grantaire shouted back. 

Bahorel yelled out in confirmation before Enjolras could argue, and in a moment he had disappeared over the horizon of the blockade. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder and turned to see Courfeyrac at his side, his face steady and eyes sharp.

“He will be back,” he told Enjolras assuredly, and despite the dread beginning to rise to the top of his throat, he nodded back at him.

  
Each minute that passed felt like an hour. Enjolras found his head whipping in the direction of the blockade at every small noise, even lost within the chaos and the people running back and forth, of the shouts and orders, his ears were trained in its direction. 

Finally, just as he was considering climbing over himself, a lookout shouted that he was returning. His heart in his throat, he rushed over calling for the help he needed to make an opening, before he had a chance he saw Graintaire emerge from the top, and allowed himself to breathe at the sight. Grantaire was smiling at him from atop of the barricade, his fist raised high a case of bullets clasped in his fingers. Enjolras grinned in relief back at him, when the cheers from those around him rang out, so did the loud, echoing shot from the other side.

Grantaire’s figure didn’t climb the structure downwards and embrace his friends in victory, it toppled gracelessly, falling over itself, hitting the rough edges and bulk along the way. Enjolras rushed to break his fall, catching him by the shoulder right before the impact. There were bodies around him, helping him move Grantaire to the ground beneath them, but to Enjolras they were just identical shadows, the only other person there was Grantaire, and his eyes would not open.

Enjolras opened his coat with fumbling fingers, a scarlet puddle was scattered across his white blouse. The shot had hit him straight through the back and into the chest. He did not need to place his head to Grantaire’s chest to know there would not be a heartbeat there to greet him.

Two hands were on his shoulders, he was pulled back into a corner. A voice was in his ear but to him it may as well have been the wind. He watched as the people surrounding Grantaire’s body took the case of bullets away. Then they took him away too. 

“-take a minute. Take many.” Courfeyrac was speaking to him softly, his hands still on Enjolras’ shoulders. “We can take your watch. Stay here.”

Enjolras turned to him as though in a dream. Within his eyes he saw a sadness he knew too well. He looked around him, he saw the bodies beginning to fall. He knew it could not last. The government had been prepared for a second uprising so close to the fall of the first. They had been warned, or strategic, it didn’t matter. They were losing. Grantaire was gone, and when he left, so too did any hope Enjolras had left for this life.

Grabbing the firearm that Courfeyrac had placed down beside them, pushed aside in favour of comfort for a friend. He ignored his shouts from behind him and ran to the place where Grantaire had fallen, a red hot fury guiding his steps forward. He tucked the gun between his chin, balancing it on his shoulders as he began to climb. For once he didn’t have a plan, or a strategy, he only had a furious agony burning him from the inside out. 

There were shouts below him, telling him to climb down, urging him that this was not the plan. But they were the voices of men whose opinions would not survive another day, and as he placed himself standing unsteadily on the top of the barricade, he saw the soldiers come in waves.   
  
He was shooting blindly, his aim shaken by his anger, but he had only climbed to the blockade to take one life, and by the time he was down to his last bullet that life was taken. A bullet found its way into his chest, and then his stomach, and he too fell to the bottom of the barricade. 

As he lay in the same place he had seen Grantiare die, he took his final breath, and his final thought along with it.

He would make sure not to leave his side next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate you reading! Please tell me what you think.
> 
> If you have any questions about the fic please feel free to reach out to me here or on tumblr (same u/n).
> 
> Btw if you're wondering why Gavroche does not make an appearance despite being a member of Les Amis (you can't convince me he's not) it's simply because I can't bare to put my son through this. He's here in spirit in this chapter though.


	3. Granite and Marble and Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire surprisingly takes initiative for a new approach for this lifetime, Enjolras feels confident about their chance of success and ponders his unlikely friendship with Grantaire as they spend more time with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's taken me 3 chapters to thank my beta on here. Thanks Taye for being a tik tok star and for fixing all my grammar. We stan a dynamic Queen.
> 
> This chapter is going to read a little different. As time goes on you'll notice the dialogue will start to change slightly. Also there's technology so that's fun. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

The bitter coldness was familiar to him now, but it still did not make the sensation of leaving his corporeal form any less unbearable.

"You're here, aren't you?" Enjolras asked aloud.

Death did not grant him an answer, but its presence was there, undeniably wrapped around every corner of him.

"Is all of this because I asked to stay?" He could feel the cold around him begin to thaw, he would not be here much longer. Still, death did not answer.

"I can take whatever you put me through," Enjolras said defiantly, he could feel the white hot burning pain of his physical form being returned, but the pain only helped to fuel his anger. "But why must you punish him as well?"

Enjolras could not speak any longer, his nerve endings catching fire as he was being removed from the world between worlds.

It was then that death chose to answer.

"He also asked for something." So said death.

Even if he could speak to ask for clarification it would be futile. Death's presence was no longer here, and Enjolras was falling again.

* * *

Enjolras did not hesitate to jump out of bed this time. The moment he had fallen into a new form he was determined to move quickly. He thanked the heavens that the life he landed in seemed to be at least slightly organized in this lifetime. A pinstriped three piece slack suit was laid out for him in preparation for the day ahead, and he rushed to dress, his fingers fumbling to loop his black tie.

Grantaire’s new face and name came to him in an instant, and he knew if he began to run his feet would carry him to the house he was residing. He did not dare question why he knew the exact address that he lived, he merely allowed himself to be taken there.

Turning the corner, he spotted him in the distance, closing the heavy door behind him and casting an uneasy glance to one of the windows above. Enjolras assumed it to belong to his apartment, and slowed as he approached him, Grantaire’s face broke into a smile as he spotted him and raised his hand in a wave that stopped halfway to his chest, pausing the action upon seeing the urgent look on Enjolras’ face.

“What did you ask death for?” Enjolras bursted out as he stopped before him, slightly out of breath, his head spinning. 

Grantaire was looking at him as though he’d gone mad, his mouth half open and his brow furrowed. For a terrified moment he considered he’d approached the wrong friend in his hurry. Had his feet taken him to Combeferre’s house instead? With all the changing names and faces and lifetimes crashing in a confusing mess in his mind, it was hard to keep track and maybe in his haste he had gotten them muddled. But then Grantaire’s confusion turned to morbid curiosity and he scratched at the whiskers on his face uneasily.

“What? The bird?” He said perplexedly.

Enjolras shook his head impatiently. “No, death! When you were granted a new life, why? What did you ask him for?”

“I told you, Enjolras. I die and then I wake up. There was nothing spectacularly celestial about my life, why should my death and rebirth be any different?” He paused, considering Enjolras as he watched the clear disappointment at the continuing mystery take over his features. “Do you talk to death?”

“Not quite,” Enjolras said, dropping his tone to a low voice and looking to the busy streets beside them. A young woman who was passing them on the street gave them an inquisitive glance over her shoulder as she eavesdropped on their conversation. “Maybe we should discuss this someplace private.”

Grantaire threw the window above him another uneasy look, and strode to pass Enjolras to walk in the direction which he came from. “Let us walk to your apartment instead. I think the air will be good for me,” he said, not waiting for Enjolras to follow.

Enjolras walked behind him in a baffled bewilderment. “Are you living with somebody?” He asked finally when they had passed several blocks in silence.

"In a sense." Grantaire said sheepishly, Enjolras watched as he strung his hands together. A nervous disposition made him stumble slightly, he bit his bottom lip casting Enjolras a guilty side glance before speaking again. "I have a wife," he admitted defeatedly.

"A wi- you have a wife?” For some reason this fact struck Enjolras as more unbelievable than the many lives he'd lived. “You’re married?!"” Enjolras reeled, wrapping his mind around the concept in shock. The idea seemed an impossibility to him.

Grantaire raised his hands as though he was being accused of something untoward. "Not by choice, she came with the body!" he declared defensively. He continued quickly upon seeing Enjolras continue to look aghast at him. "It does make you think, the people that exist before we come to live in their bodies  — They aren’t just vessels for us to move into and adapt to. They had lives and wills and actions before we came to disrupt their lives. Where do you think their consciousness goes?"

Enjolras pondered this a moment after his surprise was replaced with guilt as he acknowledged that he had never considered this before. He had always just accepted his fate of landing into an open life similar to his own.

“I’m not sure,” he said finally. “Maybe they were fated to die in their sleep?”

“How cruel to have a peaceful death taken from you in favour of a violent one,” Grantaire said with a shake of his head.

“I would think that dying for something is a better death than dying for nothing,” Enjolras commented— he could not fathom a death that didn’t involve fighting for the betterment of the world. How could one be at peace enough to die without protest when there was so much chaos and injustice around them?

“I would prefer the journey to be painless if we all arrive at the same destination regardless. Although, I suppose we don’t know where that is, do we?”

“This might be it.” Enjolras said with a tired sigh. The idea of consistently being here to relive his failures for the rest of time filled him with a numb sadness. But it was a passing thought that was beginning to become a constant worry.

“Now, let us not start going down  _ that _ road. I have an affinity for hopelessness as it is,” Grantaire said with a twisted smile as they arrived at Enjolras’ apartment. “But speaking of death, I have been meaning to ask. I know how I went out, but how did  _ you _ die in the last life?”

The question caught Enjolras off guard. Thinking back on his impassioned anger and subsequent death after Grantaire’s, he wondered, not without shame, if he had acted too rashly. To be there in person was one thing, it felt as though it was the right decision in the moment, but to say aloud that he had purposely put himself atop of the blockade after seeing Grantaire fall felt foolish in retrospect.

“Why?” He asked in place of an explanation as he shut his door behind them.

“I think I might have an idea,” Grantaire smiled and pulled a fountain pen from his breast pocket. “I was able to catch glimpses of your notes. You’ve never put them in comparison to the other lives have you?”

“Of course not.” Enjolras replied. “Our papers were shared amongst everybody. I could not have explained that away.”

“I thought as much,” Grantaire nodded. “What if the missing piece we need doesn’t lie in the similarities of each uprising, but the differences of the lives we travel to. You said yourself there has to be a reason for all of this. Maybe we just haven’t found it yet because we have been looking in the wrong places. Well —  _ you’ve _ been looking in the wrong places. I was just there, living in the wrong places. But if we can both remember some individual details and put them together, maybe we will find the information we need to survive this time. Do you have paper?”

Enjolras nodded in a dumbstruck silence and pointed in the direction of the corner that his desk sat. Grantaire had never once shown any initiative or even put up the pretense of helping them in their plans. He had shown himself when the time had come, but he was never personally involved in any of the preparations. Now he was striding across the room with confidence and rifling through Enjolras’ desk drawers to procure paper.

“You…want to help?” Enjolras asked, still slightly in shock at his change of demeanor.

“Yes, well. You may lose less sleep with an extra pair of eyes,” Grantaire pointed out, ducking his head and averting his gaze. “Besides, I am becoming rather bored of dying. We are past due for a change, don’t you think?”

Enjolras could not argue with him, and took a seat opposite him at his small writer's desk. 

“I was shot, not long after you,” Enjolras admitted uncomfortably.

“Ah, so all we have to do in future is avoid guns and we’ll best Death at every corner,” Grantaire said as he separated the paper into two columns. One for the differences, and one for similarities. Looking up to see Enjolras’ troubled expression, he became exasperated. “It’s a joke, Enjolras. I am not actually suggesting we throw our arms into the sea.”

“I was just thinking,” Enjolras hesitated slightly, he wasn’t sure exactly how to word his concerns. “I think I know why I’m here. I spoke to Death when I died the first time. He asked me if I was willing to stay and try to change a world that would not listen, and I said yes.”

Grantaire rested his chin in the palm of his hand and waited for him to go on, his expression hard to read, Enjolras brushed off the brief worry that Grantaire would mock him or dismiss him for what would come next and cleared his throat before continuing. Enjolras had never doubted his honesty in regards to his experience with death before, but he found himself wondering now if Grantaire was telling him the whole truth. Surely if he had known something that Enjolras didn’t he would have told him by now. It made no sense to him that their experiences would be so different yet share the same result each time. 

“He was there again, after last time. He didn’t answer me at first, but then I asked about you, specifically why you had to go through what I had,” at this Grantaire seemed surprised, and he shifted slightly in his seat. “He told me you asked for something. I can’t figure out what it is. Maybe if we were to know what it was, we could find what we need to succeed.”

“That’s all he said?” Grantaire queried, his expression unconcerned.

“He was gone before I could ask for more,” Enjolras replied apologetically.

“So Death is not only a bastard but a liar too. I haven’t asked any spectral form for anything, nor have I seen one for that matter,” a bitter expression moved over Grantaire’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a casual shrug and an easy smile. “I would ask you to call his bluff for me next time, but-” Grantaire tapped the paper with the tip of his pen, his expression determined. “-we are not going to have a next time, are we?”

Enjolras found himself less doubtful of him now by his seeming offhandedness towards their own mortality than he was a few moments ago. To feel death's presence had rattled Enjolras and was an experience that stayed within his thoughts. He doubted Grantaire would be so casual if he had met him as well. Soon however, it was pushed from his mind as they poured over the details of their previous lives. 

Grantaire had particulars that Enjolras had missed, small things about their friends' lives that he had not gotten a chance to discover whilst he focused on the cause. The revelations caused him a small amount of sorrow, as he felt for the first time as though he was an outsider to the closer aspects of his friendships. Grantaire had also taken note of things he had not even considered, the weather, the seasons, the cultures — things that could have been important factors in their failure that Enjolras had not even taken a passing notice in. He found himself especially grateful for Grantaire’s insight, and saw in him a value he hadn’t considered before.

By the time the day was spent, they had moved to work kneeling on the floor, the papers spread out on a surface large enough to consider them as a whole, his comfortable chairs long ago abandoned at his desk. His wooden flooring looked akin to that of a mad and fervent writer, their messy  mapping out of lives and worlds strewn haphazardly over his room, an exhaustive tale of cascading revolutions and expiration. The fading light from a setting sun approaching into night had lit the room with a golden hue, and Enjolras rose from the floor to admire the mess, not long after Grantaire stretched and stood as well, an odd sense of pride and hope was shared between them.

"We are all out of paper," Grantaire said while massaging his wrist before taking out his pocket watch and checking the time, he released a low whistle. “I hadn’t noticed it was so late.”

"Yes, I suppose your dearly beloved is waiting for you." Enjolras replied, unable to hide the small teasing smile that crept into his tone.

"Ah yes, I almost forgot about the marriage situation," Grantaire said with a frown as he leaned against the closest wall, an immediate anxiety came into his body as he turned around to face Enjolras. "What am I going to do about that?"

"What do you mean?" Enjolras frowned.

"I mean we have decided to succeed. We are determined to keep living this time. So how does one get out of something like that?"

Enjolras moved his gaze back to one of the papers he held in his hand. He pretended to study them, but the words were not absorbed by his tired eyes.

"Maybe you'll grow to love her," he said dismissively.

"No," Grantaire replied sadly. "No, I don't think I will."

"Is she not your type?"

"She's very pretty."

"Pretty’s not your type?" Enjolras asked, turning towards him as he tilted his head, the audacious grin returning to him. 

Grantaire looked at him with a pained expression, as though he was struggling to form the proper words for a suitable reply. He wondered if he had crossed an invisible line of their friendship, perhaps teasing Grantaire about his love life was not a topic he felt Enjolras had any right to venture into. But as he considered changing the subject, Grantaire merely sighed and ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly.

"That's not the problem."

"Then what is?" Enjolras asked. 

"It's more…nevermind. I should go,” he said quickly. “I will come back tomorrow in the afternoon to go over our findings before we meet with the others.” 

Grantaire grabbed his grey hat from the table and made to leave. Memories came to Enjolras of several times Grantaire had boasted of various women in his life, exaggerations and tales to more excite and amuse than speak poetically about love, but perhaps behind the fables was genuine attachment and emotion there, someone that he mournfully missed in solitude.

“Did you have somebody?” Enjolras asked suddenly, his voice making Grantaire stop with his hand on the door handle. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to ask, but he pressed on. “In our first life, someone that you loved?”

Grantaire was quiet for a moment, his face etched in a melancholy that told Enjolras that his hunch had been correct, but when he turned towards him he graced him with a wistful smile.

“None that returned my affections,” he said simply. Tipping his hat as he exited and leaving Enjolras alone and puzzled as the oak door clicked shut behind him. For the second time that day, Enjolras had an inkling that Grantaire was not telling him the whole truth.

He supposed it wasn’t the strangest idea, to be mourning something that never was. He certainly had regrets pertaining to things that could have been in old lives, although none of them were romantic. Missed opportunities and hypothetical ‘what ifs’ were the reason his dreams often came to haunt him. He stretched, abandoning the papers where they lay and walked over to the window as he pondered this, taking in the city growing dark outside that they had landed in. The world had changed while he was hovering between it. Vehicles not tied to horses moved freely in the streets, lamps no longer contained a burning ember, voices came from boxes to broadcast news, if he thought about it for too long his head began to hurt. He felt if this pattern kept occurring, he’d eventually not be able to keep up with the worlds he landed in.

Enjolras had almost been expecting him, and did not move when the raven swooped in to land on his windowsill. He narrowed his eyes at the creature, considering Grantaire’s theory more and more each moment the bird's cold eyes watched him. 

“Don’t even think about giving me a wife,” Enjolras said disdainfully as he pulled his curtains shut, and moved to his desk and wondered how it came to this; speaking to birds as though they were in charge of his fate.

An anger took over his tired body, fate was one thing, but only he was in charge of his actions. The very thought that there were invisible strings controlling his autonomy and taking his liberties was unacceptable. He was more determined than ever to make this lifetime work, to succeed in spite of his supposed destiny.

He believed in the power of change, and believed he was capable of achieving it. As long as he continued to trust this, he could also change his fate.

They would not die this time.

* * *

Enjolras rose with the sun the following day, his determination from the night before following him into the morning. He dressed carefully, taking note of the clothes he had in his bureau. He had never understood passing fashions, but this particular clothing struck him as odd. He owned curve heeled shoes and long suits, and wondered at what point men chose to exchange a cravat in favour for a tie.

For once, he made a conscious choice to be present in the world around him, taking mental notes as he looked at things he would have never thought to consider before. The chill of the Autumn day brushed his cheeks, women wore wide brimmed hats ordained with feathers, he passed a theatre that advertised nickelodeons in favour of live performances, and narrowly avoided a passing tram as he crossed High street. Watching in awe of the men that sat so casually atop of it, as though it wasn’t a feat to be moved by mere cable and railway. He spoke to a passionate young woman shouting on the street corner who talked of voting and literacy for all in London, and took the pamphlets she was offering with enthusiasm. All of this was overwhelming, but not in the way he had been expecting. Instead of returning to his apartment with exhaustion and misery, he found himself invigorated by the spirit of humanity. Forever moving, forever evolving, if such accomplishments could be made and adapted to in less than a century and become unquestioned then the world could be accepting of change. Grantaire was waiting for him at his door when he arrived, and Enjolras smiled at him with an excited energy.

“Have you been outside?” Enjolras asked as he let them in.

“Coincidentally, I just came from there,” Grantaire answered in amusement. 

Enjolras ignored his jest, grabbing him by his shoulders in an eager enthusiasm. “The world is changing! The people are accepting of technology just as they are of social progress. There is electricity in the air in a literal sense! If this world is not the time for change then I don’t know when will be!”

He moved quickly to his desk, placing the new stack of blank paper he’d purchased onto it and immediately writing down his observations, leaving Grantaire standing in the doorway in a stunned silence. “Where have you been today?” Enjolras asked him as he continued to write.

“I met with Joly this morning,” Grantaire said as he crossed the room. “They are having a trade union meeting tonight at the  café Royal, but there’s something you should know we should probably take note of it if we are comparing lives. ”  Grantaire sat across from him in the opposite seat, Enjolras continued in his writing as he looked towards him, only to be met with a conflicted expression. “They’re approaching this as though it will be a negotiation, not a battle. I don’t think they are prepared for a bloodbath in any sense, and as far as I can suffice, that possibility has not even crossed their minds.”

Enjolras paused at this. He had spent so much energy yesterday focusing on their last lives and his time this morning considering the small details of their new one that he hadn’t had any time to think about the important specifics of what he knew about this time's circumstances. 

What did he know about their situation?

Although at the heart of it all, the aristocracy was heavily involved in government decisions, and this made a fury burn within him, their movement was surprisingly not focused on removing them. Their attention was not turned to dictators or Kings in this lifetime, but one against poverty and the disparity of wealth amongst the working class. They had found their friends years ago in the midst of forming a trade union for all those who worked in dangerous conditions for exchange of mediocre pay. Their enemy was not one with a face or a crown, but one of starvation and housing and the fear of losing wages by demanding rights. 

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Enjolras said after considering. “If we are truly trying to live in this lifetime, perhaps our approach should be more diplomatic. The world is becoming more civilized, maybe they have outgrown the need for the actions we took in the past.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Considering our history, you don’t think we should at least warn them of the possibility of violence?”

Enjolras hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck in a thoughtful deliberation. If he was honest with himself, he was tired of fighting, of seeing his friends slain and fallen before him. If there was an option to succeed without having to watch them suffer, then he would prefer it. But he could not deny that Grantaire had a right to be skeptical about their amicable approach.

“We should mention it as a means of caution, but not as a suggestion for action. If we are to expect this world to change, then we should change with it.”

Grantaire seemed satisfied by this, as he nodded and moved to grab a new sheet of paper. Enjolras noticed for the first time since he’d arrived that he seemed tired and fidgety, his fingers constantly tapping or moving as he switched between making new notes and studying the old, he eventually took to pacing the room. Catching the corner of Enjolras’ eye every so often and making him lose his concentration. This was especially bothersome as Enjolras felt as though there was something important missing from his list that he could not quite place his finger on. Everytime Grantaire fidgeted into his eyeline he lost his train of thought and the possible revelation that might come with it.

“Is there something bothering you?” Enjolras asked, exasperated after Grantaire moved for the third time from the chair to the windowsill.

Grantaire shook his head. His eyes not rising from the paper he held. “I’m fine, it was just a long night is all. I need to move to keep myself awake.”

“I thought your long nights of debauchery were past you now that you’re a married man,” Enjolras chided with a coy smile.

“That’s very funny, Enjolras.” Grantaire said irritably with a roll of his eyes.

“I thought so.” 

“I sought out Feuilly shortly after I left here, if you must know,” Grantaire explained. “It was a long night because I was running errands for him, and I wanted to keep myself busy until-” he trailed off, muttering a sentence that Enjolras couldn’t catch.

“What was that?”

Grantaire released a long sigh, his body finally going still. When his eyes met Enjolras’ again there was shame behind them.

“I wanted to keep myself busy until I had exhausted myself,” Grantaire repeated carefully. “Because I knew if I had a moment's peace before I retired to bed I’d take up the drink again.”

Enjolras looked at him with commiseration, he inwardly chastised himself for not asking him before this point if he had been coping with the change by feeling the need to drink.

“Did you?” Enjolras asked him, not unkindly.

“I had one,” Grantaire admitted. “I will eventually uphold our bargain, that I promise you.”

“You could have stayed here,” Enjolras said sympathetically. He wondered why Grantaire had hurried off so suddenly if he was trying to keep himself busy enough to exhaust himself. “I don’t mind helping to distract you if that’s what you need.”

“I think going over every detail of our deaths was the opposite of a distraction.” Grantaire sighed as he leant against the windowsill. 

“You didn’t have to stay for that,” Enjolras said gently. “I would have gladly taken your mind off of it if you had told me.”

Grantaire refused to look at him as he stayed quiet against the window. His face contorted in a mix of shame and self consciousness.

“I have music,” Enjolras said suddenly to break the silence that had filled the room. “At least, I think I do. It could help keep you awake.”

Grantaire seemed grateful in the change of topic, and when Enjolras leant over to the cabinet gramophone next to his desk, opening one of the drawers to produce a victor record he joined him in the seat beside him at the desk. Enjolras had never touched the player before, but he followed what felt like submerged knowledge and muscle memory as he placed the record into it.

“How do you suppose this works?” Grantaire asked him curiously, shifting his seat closer to the cabinet as he watched the record spin in its cradle. “Cylinders made of wax and shellac producing sound. If you told me about this possibility in France I would have thought you mad.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin to comprehend it.” Enjolras said as a soft instrumental song began to play, technology was as much of a mystery to him as death was. Grantaire stayed seated and still, his head resting in his crossed arms placed upon the cabinet as he watched the record turn. 

When the song was halfway to completion, it was evident that Enjolras’ suggestion was having the opposite effect on Grantaire, his eyes drooping and shutting longer with each blink, eventually staying closed. Enjolras watched him as his chest began to rise and fall, and when the record had run out its last note, he leant over him, brushing his shoulders slightly to lift the needle, catching it before it could hit the label. Grantaire did not stir when the music stopped.

Staring down at him as he slept, Enjolras felt a fondness as he did so. The fact that Grantaire was trying to improve meant more to him than if he actually succeeded in staying sober. The change was clearly not coming easily to him, he wished there was a way he could help ease the process.

He was suddenly struck with what was missing from his list. It seemed absurd that it had taken so long for him to reach this realization, when it had been in front of him the entire time, and was the entire reason he was scouring over his past lives in such detail.

Leaning back over his desk, he rifled through his papers until he was able to find one labelled ‘ _ different _ ’ with spare space at the bottom. Hurriedly, as though the thought would leave him in an instant if not put to paper, Enjolras wrote the word down, and when Grantaire’s name stared back at him in shining black ink, he looked back over to the man who had been by his side in each lifetime.

Enjolras took the time to carefully rip the name from the bottom of the page, meticulously avoiding cutting off the lettering as he went. Folding the small scrap of paper with Grantaire’s name on it over twice, he placed it in his shirt's breast pocket, a reminder of where they had started and where they had ended up.

When Enjolras shook him awake a few hours later when it was finally time to meet their friends, he never mentioned the revelation, or the paper he had on his person. But he did clasp his arm in appreciation as they left his building, and the smile that Grantaire gave to him as they walked was welcomed and returned.

* * *

The difference between this cause and the ones that came before it was evident to Enjolras the moment they arrived. Discussions were calmer and more relaxed. His friends spoke of change in terms of long term goals instead of direct action. It was such a surreal and sudden difference of urgency that Enjolras felt almost out of place when he caught himself passionately speaking about the days ahead. Grantaire it seemed was not the only one within their group who had gotten married, this knowledge felt so foriegn and strange to him that he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that any of his friends were truly capable of it.

“-and how is your wife?” Joly was asking Grantaire 

“Terrible,” He heard Grantaire complain. “You all take up so much of my nights that she is convinced I have a mistress.”

“We are as needy as a mistress,” Bossuet said with a chuckle.

“And twice as demanding,” Joly agreed.

“You should advise her the truth,” Bossuet insisted in a serious tone. “That you’ve taken a brothel of 8 mistresses who will be demanding of your time each night and tire you out until our needs are met.”

“And what would those needs be?” Grantaire asked with a cautious laugh.

“Equality for all men - and women to appease the suffragettes. I will never hear the end of it from Edward if I forget them once more in one of my speeches- justice for those who cannot stand for themselves, and freedom from the shackles of poverty.”

“In other words, I will not see her again in this lifetime.”

“Don’t fret, your mistresses will be company enough,” Joly said as he slung an arm around him. “As long as I’m your favourite you can stay as long as you please.”

“And what if there’s another who takes my favourite?” Grantaire asked him with a grin.

Joly gave an exaggerated gasp and pretended to slap his cheek. “You scoundrel! Return to your wife immediately.”

“You’ve broken our hearts,” Bossuet lamented in a false cry. “How could you? When we were too good for you to begin with!”

“Now that I can’t argue with,” Grantaire said, Enjolras picked up on a sadness within his tone that wasn’t quite as exaggerated as he was attempting to make it seem. “I didn’t know how good I had it when I first knew you.”

They had quickly moved onto another topic, but the words stayed lingering in Enjolras’ mind. His thoughts drifted off to Paris when he walked over to where Feuilly was sitting and painting a picket sign.

“Do you ever think we could be doing more?” Enjolras asked him bluntly. As much as he wanted to avoid bloodshed, he was having trouble finding the patience to accept that others would suffer in the years it would take them to achieve their goals peacefully.

“All of the time,” Feuilly said as he looked up briefly from his task. “But we work with what we have and we take the time we need. It is unrealistic to think we can help everybody at once.”

Enjolras didn’t like this sentiment, and shifted uncomfortably as he took the seat across from him. Feuilly, noticing the expression that crossed his face smiled at him kindly.

“We’ve had this conversation almost every day since I’ve known you,” Feuilly said affectionately. 

“We have?” Enjolras asked him surprised, Feuilly laughed at his reaction, as though it was an old inside joke shared between them.

“I hope you never lose your passion, John.” Enjolras had to remind himself to react to the name he could not relate to. “But come join us in reality sometime. Parliament is a bureaucratic nightmare and money is not on our side. If we don’t take things one at a time we will burn out before we’ve even begun.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Enjolras sighed.

“I know I am right,” Feuilly grinned back at him. “You forget I have experience in unions that came before this one. The pushback we will get from those with large accounts can be more dangerous than losing our wages.”

His words reminded Enjolras of what Grantaire had said about their group not thinking of their demands as a battle, but a negotiation.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Enjolras said as he leaned into the table. “In your last group has anything ever taken a turn for violence? I do not want to be seen as overly paranoid, but maybe we should consider it a possibility. If we are affecting those with large pockets we should assume they have a large amount of power as well.”

To his relief, Feuilly did not seem surprised by his words nor did he seem ready to dismiss them. He leaned back in his chair placing his paintbrush down.

“Quite a few groups disbanded because they were threatened or their leaders were paid off,” he smiled at Enjolras as he raised his hand. “You don’t have to fret, no amount of money in the world could convince me to side with those bastards. But it is a legitimate concern. There have been people watching us for the last few months. Our plans have been leaked before we can put them into fruition, we have moved our meeting places more times than I can count, and men have been sent to my home to tell me to back down.”

“You don’t think that's a cause to worry?” Enjolras asked him as he processed this new information.

“On the contrary, it means they are scared of  _ us _ ,” Feuilly explained excitedly. “Which means they think we are actually capable of successfully achieving our demands.”

“Still, shouldn’t we arm ourselves? If we are being threatened it’s only rational to assume our negotiation may not end the way we want it too.”

Feuilly seemed taken aback at this proposal. “I don’t see why that would be necessary,” He said with a slightly bewildered tone as he looked at Enjolras slightly concernedly. “Our success relies partly on the support of the general public. If we walk in expecting a fight then we’ll receive one, and we won’t be greeted with sympathy when our goals aren’t met. We don’t want to be perceived as radicals.”

“But if we are attacked-”

“-Nobody who is striking is struck down in the street,” Feuilly said impatiently, before he smiled again and changed his tone to one of amused annoyance. “You’ll transfer your anxieties to me soon enough.”

“You’re right, of course.” he said and Feuilly looked relieved at his agreement, although a sense of dread came to Enjolras immediately after the words had left his mouth. 

* * *

It was the night before the strike was set to be put into motion, Enjolras was unusually somber and still as he watched the room around him. There was much for him to do, and yet he found himself glued in place, watching his friends interact as though he was a passerby enthralled by their closeness. The corner table granted him a small amount of privacy, allowing him to be an observer without being seen himself. This candid view of them felt stolen and deceptive, yet he could not tear himself away from the table to join them. Preferring their company from a safe distance. Ever since Grantaire had brought up that their bodies had lives before they came to be in them, he had felt less connected to his friends. The memories he had with them in this life did not belong to him, not truly, and that fact crushed him.

Just as he had felt the high of elation of inspiration in the days before, doubts and fears had come crashing into him when he had been left to his own thoughts at night. To be so sure of victory and success just a day before and to now be riddled with an anxious uneasiness was unsettling, and he found himself paralysed by the sudden burst of worry. Grantaire and himself had gone over their notes more times than they could count, and they had devised several plans around possible situations if things would go bad, but Enjolras still felt as though they were missing something important. It didn’t help that he felt that walking into their strike without weapons made him feel naked and vulnerable.

He barely noticed when Grantaire moved into the empty chair beside him. They had sat across from each other many times, but somehow this felt closer. For once they shared the same perspective, those of an outside audience.

"Your brow is so furrowed I could hold a coin in place," Grantaire teased as he shifted his seat to an angle that was more facing Enjolras.

Looking sadly across the room Enjolras paused for a good while, savouring watching his friends talk of the next day excitedly. As they laughed and drank and told bad jokes that only they would find amusing, he felt the familiar pang of guilt and sadness stretch across his chest and into his throat. Swallowing against the hard lump threatening to rise.

"I miss them," he said finally, turning towards Grantaire. His expression had turned from one of amusement to concern.

"I thought we agreed. This is the one, no?” Grantaire asserted, his voice low and firm. “We're not coming back again. We’re going to succeed, we have to. You can't welch on our deal so close to when the cards hit the table."

Enjolras was surprised to find the sudden determination that graced his expression suited Grantaire greatly.

"I know," Enjolras assured him, the defeated sigh in his throat begging to be released was held at bay. “I haven’t.”

It wasn't the same however. Knowing them in this life was a gift, but it was different to knowing them in Paris. They seemed older now, more world weary and serious. As though they had subconsciously carried the traumas of their past lives with them over to this one. He missed seeing Joly reach for his pulse at the sight of a thunderstorm, something his reincarnations seemed to have grown out of. He missed calling out Courfeyrac’s original name when he had been distracted at the Corinth by something or another instead of seeing him so focused and thoughtful. He missed hearing an inebriated Bahorel rant heartily about law school, a passion he had regrettably not carried with him to his other lives. There was always something new and different about his friends, even if they did not remember their past lives, they carried into their new ones, but they appeared faded and watered down with each reincarnation  — at least to Enjolras.

Grantaire seemed to understand his unspoken hesitation, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and meeting his sad eyes with a pain of his own. That was one thing not the same that he could be grateful for instead of lament. Talking to Grantaire came to him so easily and openly now, that was a blessing he had not experienced in the past. It seemed they almost understood each other now, or at least had gotten better at pretending to. No matter how differently Grantaire came back, the sound of his voice always remained a constant, as though for a brief and joyous second they were in the back room of the Musain once more. 

Grantaire removed his hand and took a long drink of his wine. Enjolras hadn’t mentioned it when he had noticed it in his hand, but he had noticed that his consumption of it was slower. He had not become red faced and belligerent tonight, or the night before, and seemed to be finding a way to balance his habit with his needs. Mistaking Enjolras’ thoughtful attention as judgement, Grantaire smiled at him apologetically.

“It may take a while for me to keep my promise I’m afraid,” Grantaire took the time to choose his next words carefully. “It’s not just how the numbness it causes is oddly soothing anymore. My mind has been having trouble separating everything. Without a drink it’s nothing but a mess of memories and names and faces, and so many terrible circumstances. There’s something I’m chasing that’s harder to give up. If I find myself in a state between sober and inebriation, everything is blended, all of our lives together in one blissful harmony, instead of in confusing and scattered subsections that I am constantly losing track of.”

“It is difficult,” Enjolras admitted. “I fear I’m losing memories each time I make room for more.”

“I feel like I’ve grieved them thrice over. I hate to admit I already miss them a fourth time." 

"We don't have to miss them or grieve them," Enjolras said so softly his voice caught in his throat. His words were spoken to convince himself just as much as Grantaire. By the way Grantaire averted his gaze, it was clear that their friendships impacted him just as much as it affected Enjolras. “We’ll make sure we succeed this time, and they’ll finally have the long lives they deserve.”

Grantaire smiled joylessly back at him. “I’m grateful for your company, Enjolras. I am sorry you are stuck with me in this mess. You should not feel obligated to entertain me in favour of the others just because we are both cursed to remember.”

Enjolras was taken aback by this. It had taken him a long time to want to divulge his thoughts to Grantaire, but now that he trusted him he could not imagine that privilege being taken away.

"I'm _ glad  _ you remember, Grantaire. I am making a choice to keep your company, not feeling obligated by it.” As he stressed this, the genuineness in Enjolras' tone seemed to surprise Grantaire, so he pressed on with his insistence. “I don't know if I could have done what we are doing here this time around without you. You have ideas that I would never consider." 

"I'm sure the opposite is true,” Grantaire deflected with a guarded smile. “You would have had a smoother time without my constant interference." 

"I’m serious," Enjolras said adamantly as he fixed him with an Intense look.

There was a strange expression passing over Grantaire’s face that Enjolras couldn’t quite place. Before he could analyze it deeper, Grantaire had moved in so close that he could feel the heat emitting from his breath, and as he came closer, Enjolras realized with a shock that he did not have any objections to the distance closing between them.

The peck was soft, and did not linger. It was over as quickly as it had begun. Placed upon Enjolras’ lips as if a parting gift. 

He could still feel the soft brush of the whiskers above Grantaire’s upper lip as he stood up with a bashful expression and turned away from Enjolras.

"Forgive me." The self conscious laugh he emitted could have been mistaken for clearing his throat If Enjolras had not known him better. He turned to look at Enjorlas once more, his cheeks reddened from embarrassment and his expression coy. "It's just that you reminded me of a time I was wild."

As Enjolras watched him walk away, disappearing down the steps until his presence was nothing more than a tingle on his lips, he felt something new and unfamiliar within him that sent his nerves aflutter and an unrecognisable emotion stirred within his stomach as though he was on the cusp of nervousness and anticipation simultaneously. His hand found his way to the place above his heart, where the pocket of his shirt contained the small piece of paper he’d torn with Grantaire’s name.

That night in his bed, Enjolras was restless as he pushed the thoughts of the next day away from him, had it not been the dawn of their plans coming to fruition, had Enjolras’ mind not already been muddled with confusing and clashing timelines, he may have spent considerable time thinking about his own wants and desires. But he was not ready or willing to do so, not when there was too much of a tomorrow at stake. However he tucked away a small passing thought into a corner of his consciousness he hoped he would not forget.

_ I could consider it. I could have a life here. _

For the first time since he had fallen into another body, Enjolras’ dreams granted him a peaceful slumber.

* * *

When he found Grantaire amongst his friends at the chosen meeting point on the corner of the factory, he did not mention the small act of closeness that had transpired the night before. Enjolras was sure if he were to bring it up, it would have been blamed on the drink or brushed aside or possibly even denied, so he pushed the memory down and continued their discussion as though it had not lingered on his mind ever so briefly. There were more important things at stake for him to direct his attention to and they presented themselves to him almost immediately.

“Someone warned the foreman of our plans,” Feuilly said gravely. “They’ve locked the gates in an attempt to anger those who were not planning to strike. They are hoping a day without wages will turn them against us.”

“We should see this as an opportunity, not a setback,” Enjolras insisted. “If they are rallied at the gates we can talk to those on the fence whilst striking simultaneously. I have a small amount of funds I can spare for those in desperate need. They have actually handed us a winning hand by taking their choice away from them.”

“I can spare some as well,” Courfeyrac interjected as he clapped him on the back. “We have prepared extra signs and brochures for when they are ready to join us. We will head over straight away before they are able to turn them completely against us.”

“Treat any anger you’re met with with patience,” Enjolras directed. “Their true enemy is the near poverty that the factories threaten them with by closing the gates, but desperation will make them blind with anger. They will be ready to lash out at anybody they think is preventing them from earning money. We will need to convince them that our demands will give them more freedom, not less.”

Courferyac nodded and made his way towards the factory. 

“I’ll return in a moment.” Enjolras assured Feuilly, rushing off to his apartment to find the spare funds the life that had his body before him had stored away. He was halfway down the road when an arm grabbed him by the shoulder. He turned to see Grantaire looking at him uncertainly.

“This one feels…different.”

“Yes,” Enjolras agreed. “I think this might work out.”

“What did I say?” Grantaire said, extending a nervous smile to him. “Avoid the guns and best Death at every corner.”

“You should seek a career in predictions after this is done,” Enjolras said, returning his smile.

There was a hesitation in Grantaire’s movements, it seemed as though he wanted to say something further to Enjolras, but when he looked over his shoulder to where his friends had gathered and were beckoning him over, he merely turned on his heel and left him to his errand. Enjolras felt the same feeling he had had the night before stir within his stomach, and ignored it as he made his way down the street.

* * *

Enjolras knew something was immediately wrong when his friends were not in place at the gates. He found them huddled in a worried circle, on the corner where the factory stood.

“Grantaire, what’s going on?” Enjolras asked with a lowered voice.

“He’s dead.” Grantaire’s face was drained and pale, his eyes confused and in shock. “Bossuet’s dead.” 

Enjolras felt the blood rush from his face as the words. They had prepared themselves for many things, but this was not one of them. To have one of their own dead before the strike had even happened was unfathomable.

“How?” Was all that he could manage. Bahorel turned his head towards them at the question,an untethered fury in his face.

“Those bastards murdered him. I know it was them. Walking down High street and stabbed by a thief they said,” He spat on the ground. “This was no burglary, this was targeted. They’re sending a message to us.”

“We need to tell the police!” Courfeyrac said urgently.

“Don’t be a fool. We won’t see justice for this,” Feuilly said gravely. “They have the coppers in their pockets, they’re just as corrupt as the criminals they seek.”

Suddenly, a shot rang out from above them, a woman passing by the street screamed as Enjolras turned to see a wound begin to open in Bahorel’s torso. A second shot came closely after, echoing the first, it’s bullet flying so close to Enjolras’ head that he felt the speed of the wind behind it. Someone close to him yelled out to run, he couldn’t be sure who as in an instant the group had scattered in all directions, their signs discarded on the pavement, their brochures lost against the wind. Grantaire was standing frozen, next to where Bahorel had fallen in the street. On instinct Enjolras grabbed his arm and pulled him away, no clear destination in mind outside of safety. As they reached the end of the pathway an alleyway appeared on the corner, Feuilly and Courfeyrac had taken the alleyway too, and they were leaning out of breath against the wall. Panic etched across their faces. 

“They’re dead, they’re dead!” Courfeyrac was repeating in disbelief. “How did this happen?”

Enjolras looked over Grantaire, relieved to find that nothing had struck him.

“This was supposed to be different,” Grantaire said to Enjolras in anguish.

“You knew,” a voice said behind him, he turned to see a rattled Feuilly looking in his direction. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Enjolras said quickly, taking a step backwards.

“Our plans have been leaked to others for months. How did you know that this was going to happen, John?” Feuilly’s voice was so heartbroken that Enjolras wished he could explain every complicated detail. 

“Listen to me-” he pleaded, taking another step backwards.

“-Move!” 

Something heavy knocked him over as another shot echoed deafeningly through the air. Hitting the ground hard, Enjolras had only a second to gain his bearings as Courfeyrac yelled out in shock.

“He’s been shot!”

Enjolras looked down at his body, expecting to see a crimson stream of blood beneath him, but in a horrible understanding he realized that Courfeyrac had not been referring to him. He turned to find Grantaire slumped over behind him. 

_ No. Not again. _

He had promised himself the last time this would not happen again. But Grantaire wasn’t moving and Enjolras was still alive.  _ Not again. _

He turned to where Feuilly and Courfeyrac stood over him in shock.

“I didn’t do this,” Enjolras said with tears in his eyes. He spoke the words aloud to convince himself they were true just as much as the others. “Feuilly, I-”

The air shattered with another loud bang, and the world was cold around him once more.

Enjolras’ words were lost into the wind, left unfinished in a world he no longer existed in, speaking a name that had not belonged to anyone there. When Death appeared around his body, Enjolras had no questions for him, and Death had no answers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of twists for this one. I also delved a bit in to the worldbuilding around the reincarnation, its a little different to the usual rules so if you have any questions feel free to ask.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, even if they're just to yell at me for this chapter. :)


	4. Rose Amongst The Engine of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire are thrown into immediate danger. Enjolras grapples with guilt from their previous failures as Grantaire is forced to face a sober reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: in place for alcohol withdrawal in this chapter
> 
> So this is where a lot of the "Alternate" from the alternate history tag comes in because this is about a fictional war and not WWII. As much as I love history, I don't feel like I can give something like that justice. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

Falling felt different to Enjolras this time; more tragic and more urgent. Even the clouds he fell through were darker — grey, black and blue, with flashing strings of electricity waiting to burst from their cold and brewing interior. The view that greeted him of the earth below was no better. There was no building, or city, or bed for him to fall into below. Just devastation and chaos on the earth and smoke in the air that he was descending from. Immediately knowing this world would grant him no breathing space or time to comprehend things, he closed his eyes in dread; a brief moment of nothingness before his landing would force him to act. 

He crashed into the body at the same moment a loud and roaring bang went off in the distance, somehow he knew that the noise was not from thunder. His eyes remained closed, just as they had been moments ago when he landed. Hands were suddenly on his shoulder, tight and shaking, saying words against the rapid fire shouts and gunshots.

“Hey! Can you hear me? Were you hit?” 

An instinct came to him immediately upon hearing that voice, he knew who it belonged to without needing to connect it to a new face. But his eyes snapped open regardless, wide and searching Feuilly’s as he breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that Enjolras was conscious. Just moments ago he had thought him a traitor, now he was worried for his life — although that may just be his kindness and decency for all life shining through — it was still a shock that he was worried about his state of being. He couldn’t move. His body was so sore and inflamed that he ventured he’d fallen into one that had just met a violent death, yet no evidence of open wounds or bullets remained on him.

Feuilly was speaking again, but the words he was saying were hard to comprehend, Enjolras was so blindsided by this world that he found himself slow and confused at what was happening around him. He was waving somebody over before rising and turning away, sprinting off to where Enjolras could no longer see him. 

"Enjolras, I know this is sudden but you have to move now before you get shot," Grantaire had appeared before him in an instant, taking the place that Feuilly had just been, his tone panicked and urgent.

"Already?" Enjolras asked as though in a daze.

"I know, but-" Grantaire met his eyes with an understanding empathy. His voice was full of hesitation and sorrow. There was something he had picked up about this life that Enjolras had not yet come to terms with, "-this is war."

Enjolras searched him for some kind of explanation, and finding none he looked around them. They were in a large and wide hole with tall walls built of dirt, shielding them from whatever horror lay above it. He found himself stuck, waiting to move or talk or even scream, but he couldn’t do any of those things. Seeing this, Grantaire was quick to act, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and pulling him to the other side of the trench, leading him deeper into it, past the point that Feuilly had ran down to. Hearing a rapid fire blitz of shots above him he whipped his head over his shoulder in a panic and saw bullets rip through the dirt of the place he had just been leaning against. 

"Stay here for a moment and collect yourself, and  _ stay down, _ ” there was a pleading in his tone as Grantaire stressed this. “I'll be back."

Terror gripped at every inch of him as he heard gunshots fire from every angle. Enjolras blinked and Grantaire was gone. An apprehensive sense of grief overwhelmed him, he promised he would be back, but nothing was certain. What if he died here and now and Enjolras would be forced to keep living in a world without him? He had seen him die so many times that the thought of seeing it again made his mind and body want to shut down. He told himself to close his eyes as he forced out a shaky breath, trying his hardest to concentrate on any information he could clutch onto about this life. The sooner he knew where he was the sooner he could help them.

How had he come to be in war, of all things? Enjolras hated the very idea of this. Much too often rich leaders used poor men as pawns on the basis of political feud and propagandized patriotism or terrorizing imperialism. Their goals and reasonings usually never had positive outcomes for the common people, usually forcing them into further grief and hardship. So why was he here? He had to have had a good reason to fight like this.

His confusion pausing his spiralling thoughts for a moment, he opened his eyes looking down at the body he was carried into. He was wearing a worn jacket that seemed to be made of leather. It bewildered him to see such a material worn this way, and underneath it was a white collared shirt, dirtied with loosened top buttons. His pants were simple and patched, his boots were old and scuffed. No matter how much and how fast modern fashion had progressed since he had last left the earth, he ventured that no official military would have a uniform so casual. He wasn't a soldier, and that thought was comforting, but it still did not explain why he was here.

Something loud above him shook him from his thoughts, he desperately wanted to rise and protect his friends, except, he realized with a start —  they weren’t his friends. This new information was as equally shocking as it was devastating. They had carried their souls with them, but in this world they barely had a chance to know each other. They had met only a week ago. Organized and shifted together under the banner of a greater cause. It was all coming to him now, fast and overwhelming. The underground resistance protesting the war had started as a small faction within his city, and then gained the attention and support of allies from other countries they shared a border with too. Before long they’d had communications, shared resources and information, and then a week ago it led him here. Where civilians were being hurt and taken prisoner and their government refused to send their own military to help them; worried that the intervention would flame the fires of war and draw the conflict out longer. Their people were suffering due to inaction and that was unacceptable.

He could make peace with that. At least he wasn’t fighting a battle he couldn’t believe in. He was ready, and rose to face whatever lay beyond the wall. But as he did so, an uneasy silence met him overhead.

"Save your bullets!" someone called out from above. "They've retreated! Fucking cowards."

“Should we head onwards?”

“No, it’s too risky. Let’s move out before they bring back twice as many and strategize our bearings.”

Grantaire dropped back down into the trench beside him, soon followed by some of the others, gathering their things and talking in low voices, much too calm and casual sounding considering they were only being shot at moments ago. He was relieved to count their faces, and even more so when he realized that miraculously none of them seemed to have been struck.

Next to him, Grantaire stared dead ahead, the shock from landing into this world had not paralysed him when he had awoken like it had Enjolras, but now that the chaos had cleared and quiet was settling, it appeared to hit him like a tonne of bricks. 

"Are you alright?" Enjolras asked him, despite already knowing the answer. 

"I've never shot anyone before," Grantaire's eyes were wide and glassy as he shook his head. "I still haven't, I couldn't do it. I froze."

At these words Enjolras felt a pain within his soul, a familiar empathy that embodied the heartbreak he felt when taking a life, so long ago now. It would certainly not be his last life taken, and that was a knowledge that filled him with misery.

“It’s a good thing it doesn’t come to you easily. It’s not something that becomes easier with time, either. A life shouldn’t be taken in haste. But in times like these, if it’s necessary…” 

Enjolras trailed off, in another life he would have told him that they had do it out of necessity today, so that tomorrow there would be a world where it was no longer required, but that tomorrow seemed to never come. It always seemed a necessity. When tomorrow and today and yesterday were always intertwined, it seemed hopeless that humanity would ever learn to love. Would there always be a great injustice looming over them that always seemed to win? Enjolras wholeheartedly and passionately believed in change — or at least, he had believed. Now there was a doubt beginning to creep into his ideology. Death had said the world was not ready for the kind of change he believed in, at the time he had thought that fact would change as well, but would it ever be ready? Was this punishment for his hubris? To suddenly have such a strong fundamental principle shaken was causing a physical reaction in him. He thought he may be sick. He urged himself to press on, to still believe and honour the words he was about to say, he had to speak them aloud for them to be true to both Grantaire and himself. 

“One day it won’t be necessary, but until then we’ll fight for that day.”

If the words had any impact on Grantaire he didn’t show it, he was looking off blankly in the direction where Bahorel and Joly stood. A string of curse words and a crass joke followed, and the two laughed together.

“There’s rain coming,” a voice beside them said. Enjolras turned his head to see Jehan watching the skies above. His remington slung over his shoulder, and a contemplative look about him. He seemed as though he had just come out of philosophical class, not a battle.

“Let’s get out of here then,” Grantaire replied, clearly he was desperate to get away from this place. Enjolras once again found himself wondering what he could have possibly asked Death for to land himself in situations he clearly had no desire to be in.

Jehan had begun to sing a song as they made their way out of the trenches, Enjolras felt a small flittering of nostalgia as he recognized the language to be French, but he soon switched to English as the tune went on, leaving Enjolras with a sad ache for home. They walked in a hurry in the direction of a base Combeferre said lay only half an hour away. Some of their friends had clearly gravitated towards others in their group despite only knowing each other a short amount of time. Joly was practically connected to Bossuet’s hip, and Courfeyrac was talking to Combeferre optimistically about the days ahead of them, as though their old friends had found themselves in old times and old company. It made Enjolras speculate whether some of them knew each other longer than that, although they all seemed to come from different corners of Europe. Some French, some Austrian, some Italian— and then there was Bahorel.

“Where on earth is Bahorel from anyway?” Grantaire asked him in an undertone as they walked, clearly also struggling to put the pieces together. 

“The States, by the sound of it,” Enjolras said with a frown, Bahorel’s loud voice and poignant accent stood out harshly amongst the group. “Are we Swiss?” 

Grantaire paused for a long time, his brow furrowed. “I think so...everything is very-” he stopped mid sentence, bringing his hand close to his head and making an ambiguous twirling flourish, “- in here at the moment.”

Enjolras understood exactly what he meant and nodded. Some of the particulars about this life were still a mystery to him, and when he tried to focus and grasp at specifics, his mind muddled and ached, confusing him further. 

They walked silently, ahead of them Jehan finally finished the tune he had been singing, ending on an unexpectedly vulgar rhyme, causing those around him to burst out into laughter.

“And you said this world was becoming more civilized,” Grantaire teased him with a grin.

“I'm beginning to think every intuition I have is the wrong one,” Enjolras admitted, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. 

Grantaire shrugged, either not picking up on the defeat in his tone or deliberately ignoring it. 

“There could be worse things to be wrong about. A little debauchery doesn’t hurt the soul."

“No, but the other things I’ve made amiss certainly do.” He thought back on his last death, and the circumstances surrounding it, casting a hesitant eye to where Feuilly walked in front of them. Now that the world was quiet around him, he could begin to come to terms with it.

“So gloomy today, Enjolras. What could possibly be plaguing your mind?” Enjolras shot him a confused and impatient look before realizing he was joking. Relaxing slightly as Grantaire clasped his shoulder in understanding. “I’m sure I don’t have to say it, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear it, but the way everything happened wasn’t your fault. How could we have possibly planned for any of that?”

Enjolras’ skin prickled at the memory, and the horrible chaos that happened so quickly. The accusing and crestfallen look on Feuilly’s face would surely come to him to haunt his dreams tonight.

“I would suggest making another list, but-” Grantaire continued, looking over his shoulder at the field they had just left behind. “I fear it would take us longer than we have here.”

Enjolras had no energy to chastise his doomful attitude, nor did he have the will within him to even try to argue he was wrong.

“We’ll just have to take it as it comes,” he said, the idea wholly unappealing to him. Without a plan he felt defeated before the battle even begun, a terrible sense of deja vu from their last life.

* * *

They had arrived back at their temporary base while they devised a new strategy of getting over the border and into the barracks the civilians were being held. They were making camp in a large concrete bunker with many tunnels and some small rooms built underground a few decades before. Enjolras had no clue what its original purpose stood for, nor did he have the energy to rack his brain to find out, he merely accepted its existence without question, not unlike the life he’d landed into. It was surrounded by a large thicket of spruce and fir trees, its entryway only noticeable if you knew where to look for it. They were all situated in the first room, the largest. A few chairs and supplies messily scattered around their base as a small group had gathered around the largest table.

"Well, if it's possible I'd like to at least try to not be shot at before we even get to the facility," Courfeyrac was saying.

"We can't go through the northern entry without them seeing us, we know that now," Feuilly replied with a frown. "We could try it from a few other angles but it would mean splitting people into groups to do so. There's no avoiding drawing attention to ourselves how we currently stand."

"That sounds dangerous," Combeferre said carefully.

"And today wasn't?" Bahorel said with a short laugh. "We made it through by the skin of our teeth, if they didn't retreat we wouldn't be standing here talking right now."

Enjolras desperately wanted to walk over and join them, to insert his ideas and help device a strategy, but he kept his distance. A hesitance and feeling of not belonging he had never felt in their company before putting up an invisible wall between them. Grantaire was watching him, but said nothing. If he had any judgement or opinion he kept it to himself. His unusual silence only made Enjolras doubt himself even more.

Just as Grantaire had not uttered a word about his disengagement, Enjolras didn’t mention the contents of the flask he was carrying.

"You're avoiding him aren't you?" Grantaire asked after they were finally alone in the bunker room they had been assigned to stay in. 

It was small, and hastily put together, no personality or feeling hinting at who he could have been stood out to him like it had in their other lives, at least then he'd had a home to help piece together different elements. Here there was nothing, a stripped down cold room consisting only of two folding camp cots, so cramped in that there were only inches between them. Grantaire had watched Enjolras turn the opposite direction from where Feuilly was walking for the third time that night just moments before, and his brief restraint of holding his tongue had finally run its course.

"I don't know what you mean," Enjolras tried to sound indifferent, but it was clear from the expression Grantaire met him with that he saw right through his mask.

"Look," Grantaire said carefully, "it's a new life. He hasn't cussed you out in this one so far, and if he wanted to this would be the place to do it - but it doesn't seem like he's somehow subconsciously carrying a grudge with him, so why don't you just talk to him? You obviously want his company."

Enjolras was unable to keep the hurt from his face as he looked over to Grantaire.

"He was so disappointed in me. Right before I died I could see it in his eyes. He wasn't even angry he was just-" Enjolras sighed, unable to finish the thought aloud. "To think he could have died thinking that I'd done something to betray them..." He trailed off in a strangled tone.

"Enjolras," Grantaire said gently, and for the first time Enjolras was not comforted by the kindness in his tone, he found himself resenting it. How could he still look at him so fondly after all they had been through? After he had been the witness and victim to all of his failures. Enjolras begrudged that he was still here, still supporting and believing in him, when he should be despising him for all of his faults instead. "I'm sure the moment they saw you get shot that idea left them quite quickly. Someone playing both sides usually makes it out alive."

He knew he was likely right, but he shook his head pushing the logical point aside in favour of his own burdened reasonings.

"It isn't just Feuilly, I keep thinking back to Courfeyrac as well. More times than I can count he asked me if I could see something he was missing. I can't help but feel like the reason we aren't succeeding is because we're being dishonest by omission with them," Grantaire looked confused at this, opening his mouth slightly as though to say something, and then thinking better of it and closing it again with a concerned eye. Enjolras rubbed the nape of his neck, the idea that had been plaguing him finally ready to burst. 

"I think we should tell them about what's happening," he said finally.

Grantaire blinked long and hard before leaning backwards, his eyes going slightly wide.

"I'm sorry, repeat that?" he asked in a rising tone.

"I think we should tell them," Enjolras said again, more firmly this time. "Everything we've been through, everything we know  — maybe they have ideas or insights that can break the cycle."

Grantaire produced a short and high pitched laugh. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking!'

"Well, why not?" Enjolras countered, becoming frustrated by his tone.

"Why not!" Grantaire scoffed the words out, clapping a palm to his face and moving it harshly upwards until it was running through his hair. "Why not get laughed out of the room? Why not never be taken seriously in this world again? Why not be taken away to the madhouse and left to die in a wretched place like that instead? That's after fifty years of them poking and prodding at our brains with a scalpel mind you-"

"Okay I get it!" Enjolras snapped at him. "It was just an idea we haven't tried yet."

"Yeah! For good reason!" Grantaire retorted back.

"Just forget it," Enjolras turned away from him in frustration and bent down, pointedly rummaging through the pack that was on the floor, he had no specific object he needed in mind but his hands needed something to do while his irritation burned within his body.

Behind him he heard Grantaire breath out a steadying breath, and even this small action annoyed him further. He was tiring of his endless patience, of his soft words and kind looks, he wanted him to get it over with, for Grantaire to just begin to hate him like he should. It would come eventually, the longer they were here and the more Enjolras failed him, becoming closer while drawing out it's eventuality even a second longer was maddening.

"Look," Grantaire said slowly and carefully. "I know where we find ourselves this time is not ideal-" at this Enjolras emitted a harsh laugh; sharp, short and biting. " _ But- _ " Grantaire pressed on, ignoring his interruption, "-if we start acting on every irrational idea that comes into our minds, we're just going to make trouble for ourselves and draw this entire situation out longer than it needs to be."

Enjolras threw a heated look over his shoulder to him before turning back to his pack. 

"I'm not being irrational." 

"I didn't say you were! You're not hearing me," Grantaire insisted exasperatedly, Enjolras didn't have to look at him to know he was running his hands through his hair again. "All I'm  _ trying _ to say is acting on your emotions based on something that's already passed us isn't going to help us in the long run, and it's especially not going to ease your guilty conscience!"

Enjolras stilled at this, his words hitting him like punctured glass. An irrational rage took over his body and he threw whatever was in his hand down onto his bag with unnecessary force. He rose, turning to glower at him.

"Fuck you." 

"Enjolras-"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said with venom as he stormed towards the door.

"Enjolras!" Grantaire said again, but he ignored him, his anger moving him forward and through the tunnel and to the entryway. "You don't even have anything to be guilty for!" He heard him call out, and that sent an ache so fierce within his chest that all he wanted to do was fall and crumble where he stood, but he was too determined to be alone now to stop.

He had to walk away from him out of the bunker and into the night, before his face reminded him of all the times he’d seen him die and not been able to stop it. He had to walk away before Grantaire told him words of comfort and tried to lie to him that he wasn’t responsible. He had to walk away before he collapsed into him in an embarrassing display of grief and vulnerability. He couldn’t handle any more kind words he didn’t deserve.

He didn’t make it too far out of the entryway, choosing the closest tree in his proximity to lean his back against. The ache within his head and chest growing stronger by the minute, he felt a lump rise in his throat and something begged to release inside of him, as he rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the pain.

"Hey, you want a drag?" 

A voice came from a small distance beside him and snapped him out of his thoughts, he opened his eyes and turned his head to see Bahorel approaching him, his scarlet vest highlighting his presence in the darkness, a lit cigarette held out between two fingers in a friendly gesture. 

“I don't smoke,” Enjolras replied, unable to keep the curtness from his headspace from transferring to his tone too. He berated himself inwardly, an uncomfortable feeling settled unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach, he was beginning to grow used to guilt finding a home there.

Bahorel didn’t seem to mind his impoliteness, moving beside him and raising his eyebrows. "You sure? Always clears my head after a fight.” The knowing side eyed grin he gave him as he said this was much too distinct.

Enjolras looked at him quizzically. "How did you-?”

Bahorel didn’t have the decency to look sheepish when he asked this, in fact he looked quite proud of his insight. “We have very few vices out here, leave a man his eavesdropping and gossip without judgement.” He paused for a moment, gauging Enjolras’ reaction, when he wasn't met with anger he continued. “So, care to get it off your chest? I have a lot of opinions about a great deal of topics, and not to brag - but I’m almost always right. I could tell you if you were too if you want, and I won’t shy away from telling you if you were being a son of a bitch either."

“It’s nothing,” Enjolras replied, but only half-heartedly. Truthfully he wanted nothing more than to have a friendly ear that wasn’t Grantaire’s for once. Someone who could view his actions objectively and tell him bluntly he was terrible. When Bahorel looked at him skeptically he was quick to add, "I don't want to burden you.”

"Buddy,” Bahorel said seriously. “I’m so bored, I am practically begging you to spill your beans." 

Enjolras breathed a sigh of laughter. He looked towards him for a moment, and saw behind his ribbing, a genuine eagerness to listen. He was grateful that Bahorel had not lost his daring smile and boldness throughout his lifetimes.

"It's just a disagreement," Enjolras finally said hesitantly.

“About…?” Bahorel prompted, drawing out the word in and waving his hand in an impatient motion.

Enjolras thought for a moment, carefully devising a way to tell a half truth as honestly as possible without completely giving himself away.

"I did something that hurt someone more than a decade ago. The person I hurt doesn't remember it, and he knows me now as though I’m a stranger and treats me kindly. Lately I’ve been thinking that I should tell him about our past but my bunkmate- well... my  _ friend _ thinks I should leave it be and talk to him as though there is nothing wrong  — we’ve known each other before this and it will affect him too if I do tell the truth . There could be consequences for the both of us, but still, I can’t shake the feeling that I owe the people I hurt an apology and an explanation.”

“What did you do?” Bahorel asked with a morbid curiosity. “It wasn’t murder, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t that.” Enjolras said with a sigh. Although the deaths of his friends did weigh shamefully on his soul, even he could not extend his responsibility to that word. “Everyone is still alive.” He said this with a heaviness Bahorel would never be able to understand. 

"Then you’re fine,” Bahorel told him dismissively, “Let sleeping dogs lie, live and let live, and all those other sentiments people say to help them sleep at night.”

Enjolras was still unconvinced. "You think so?" He asked doubtedly.

Bahorel shrugged. "Sure, if the other guy isn't bothered anymore, why should you be?” He looked at him pointedly, his voice lowered. “Why are you, by the way?"

"I don't know.” Enjolras answered honestly, thinking for a moment. A harsh wince came to his face as he remembered Grantaire’s words from earlier, their sting still sharp within his chest. “Perhaps it’s my guilty conscience..."

"Ah, now _that’s_ an easy fix!” Bahorel said as he enthusiastically stubbed out his cigarette on the tree beside them. “I’m going to let you in on a secret — there is a way to keep your sins private and clear your conscience.” 

“How?” He asked reluctantly.

“It’s all about balance!” Bahorel smiled, clapping his hands together. “You see, life doesn’t just hand out fair punishment for our specific actions. You’re going to have people in this world unfairly treated every day who would never hurt a fly, and then you’ll get some proper bastards slink and slither through life who will never get their just deserts. That’s just the shit cards we get handed sometimes. But now if we’re talking souls and consciences that’s a different story. If you want that inner peace crap all you’ve got to do is cancel out the bad thing with a good thing, even if they're unrelated the universe will work out the nitty gritty of it all in the end when we meet the big guy.”

"What kind of good thing?” Enjolras asked him quickly, deliberately ignoring the topic of death and all of its consequences. He was growing tired of repeatedly questioning his own mortality.

“Well just for starters, you could do me a favour,” Bahorel said with a twinkle in his eye. Enjolras gave a laugh at this but gestured for him to continue. “I’m supposed to be rallying everybody up for tomorrow. You know, get their spirits high and make them feel invincible before we do something really stupid and dangerous. But, uh -” He faltered suddenly, and for the first time since their conversation started Enjolras saw his confidence slip from his face. “Well, I’ve been told my American brashness isn’t translating well to the European crowd. Or, in the terms of my bunkmate: what I have currently is absolutely unintelligible.” 

“You want me to write something for you?” Enjolras asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Bahorel said decisively, already lighting up another cigarette. “I don’t know why, I just get the hunch you’d be good at it. Can’t be anything worse than what I have at the moment, anyway.”

“I’m sure it’s not so bad, but I’d be happy to help,” Enjolras said kindly, before looking at him curiously. A question lingering on his mind. “How did you come to be here anyway? It’s a long way to travel for a war your country doesn’t have any stakes in.”

“Ah, fuck the war, it’s not about that,” Bahorel said, drawing out a long puff of smoke. “I was studying in France on an exchange when it all started . Things just got worse and worse, my mother was begging me to come home, but I’d just gotten settled there and I’d met all these great people. It got me thinking, you know? Seeing all of them start to suffer— it didn’t really matter if it wasn’t my fight or my country. They all had mother's that worried about them too, but they couldn't just go home to escape the danger when their home was the danger. They have the same blood you and I do, and if you can help and they need it, why wouldn’t you? You know what I mean?”

“I do,” Enjolras said wholeheartedly. There was a spark now lit inside him, one that he had feared had gone out, but now with Bahorel’s words was bright and burning again. “I really, really do.” 

Bahorel smiled at him with a friendly understanding. They stood in silence for a moment as Enjolras thought about all the places fate had taken him and the people those circumstances had affected. It didn't take long for his thoughts to eventually turn to Grantaire again, and regret from their last conversation rose its head. He was beginning to see now that he had a point with his words, even if Enjolras had not wanted to hear them in the moment, and by pushing him away for wanting to support him he was only hurting both of them more (and it was not like they needed anymore help in that area).

“Are you also the one whose going to be assigning where we all go tomorrow?” He asked Bahorel suddenly. "I overheard you saying we'd be splitting up."

“That's what they tell me.” Bahorel said with a shrug.

“In that case, speaking of favours...would you pair me with my bunkmate?”

Bahorel’s eyes sparkled at the idea of further scandal, and he shot Enjolras a curious grin. “I thought you two were fighting?”

“Yes, but he’s likely asleep now,” Enjolras invented quickly. “I still have some unfinished points I want to make. I don’t want to die leaving an argument unfinished.”

Bahorel laughed heartily at this. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Enjolras knew he should head back and talk to Grantaire properly. But there was a needling sense of guilt still lingering within him, keeping him tethered and not quite yet ready to stop standing his ground, at least for a few more minutes. He was also appreciating Bahorel’s company too much to find much desire to leave.

"I have a strange question for you," Enjolras said, deciding to throw caution to the wind. If he could not be completely open about the past to his friends, maybe there was a way for him to find a satisfying balance between the old worlds and the new.

"The stranger the better. Shoot!”

“How do you feel about lawyers?”

* * *

After an extremely long and satisfying tangent from Bahorel, Enjolras finally felt calm enough to return to the room within the bunker. He arrived with a tight chest, ready to face the room he'd left so suddenly. But when he entered he found it dark. The lights were out in a pointed silence, and by the look of the dark shadow facing the wall on the left bunk, it seemed that Grantaire was likely asleep too.

Enjolras regretted staying out for so long, and let his gaze linger for a moment on the space where Grantaire lay. He didn't want his harshness to follow them into the next day, not when he regretted his actions and had come to rely on his presence for so much. For a moment he considered waking him, but instead moved to the other cot and lay down as well, the springs below him groaning as his weight pressed the thin mattress. 

Springs emitted sound beside him as well as Grantaire shifted slightly on the bed.

"You're back."

Enjolras stilled at his voice, it was small and guarded, and not at all like the one he had grown accustomed to. Grantaire had turned onto his back, his profile only slightly visible in the lack of lack of light around them.

"You're still awake?" Was all Enjolras could think to say despite all the sentences passing rapid fire in his mind.

"Yeah," Grantaire sighed, sounding worn out and weak. "About before, I wasn't trying to-

"I know. You don’t have to explain," Enjolras interrupted, closing his eyes tightly as he clenched his fist against his chest. He released a long and shaky breath before he found the words he needed. "It's hard. All of this. I feel like I'm failing a test I begged to take."

"You're not," Grantaire assured him softly and Enjolras felt grateful that the lights were off. The fear of breaking down when confronted by his kindness overwhelmed him again, if he had to look upon his face while he said those words, he would likely fall to pieces. He knew he owed him an apology.

“I didn't mean to-"

"-I know." Grantaire cut him short, and Enjolras cast a sad smile against the darkness. He heard Grantaire take a heavy breath before continuing. "I had hoped that pretending to not to be bothered would make it easier. But this is awful. All of it is, but especially  _ this _ . I’m angry too."

Enjolras didn't need him to clarify to know what the ' _ this _ ' he referred to was. He knew being thrown into this situation and the stakes that came with it were unbearable, especially after so much hope had come in the moments before the deaths the previous time.

“I have fears about a lot of things going forward, but I can’t keep failing everybody,” He left the words heavy in the air for a moment, debating whether or not to go on. He wanted to tell him his deepest paranoia, but it required a level of vulnerability he currently felt too delicate to speak openly about. Still, he owed him an explanation. “I can’t keep failing you,” he said, closing his eyes as he did so in a vain attempt to shield himself from their ache. “If you were ever to grow to hold me in contempt for it, I’d understand, but-”

“It would go against my very soul to despise you,” Grantaire’s resolute tone cut through Enjolras’ sentence like a knife. “Not in this life, not in any life. If we did this a thousand times over there would never be a world where I could hate you.”

“But, I  _ asked  _ for this.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault when it doesn’t work,” he insisted. “ _ None  _ of this is your fault.”

"I'm so tired," Enjolras said with a long exhale.

"Go to sleep." His voice became small again, all finality in his previous words lost to the night.

"That's not what I meant," Enjolras replied quietly, letting his hand fall from his chest to hang between the small space beside them.

"Yeah," Grantaire sighed. "I am too."

In the space between them, he felt Grantaire's hand fall as well as it brushed against Enjolras' wrist, before taking it in turn and clasping it in unspoken solidarity. Despite it being an action he had done many times, when he applied a comforting pressure a timid and vaguely familiar emotion that Enjolras could not quite place knotted in an anxious ball at the pit of his stomach. It felt as though a nervous excitement was emerging at his contact. His instincts were sending him conflicting messages, urging him to simultaneously pull away from it and lean into the touch. Instead he did neither, frozen in place, locked in by a fear he couldn't place or rationalize. After what seemed like an eternity of uncertainty, Enjolras made the simple act of squeezing it back, and Grantaire's hand had let go of his once more a moment later. The withdrawal of his touch left Enjolras feeling even more conflicted.

"Goodnight, Enjolras." Grantaire said in the same soft tone that had haunted him before, now it played on his mind for a different reason, although he couldn’t place what that was.

"Goodnight," Enjolras replied, knowing he would not be sleeping.

* * *

"It's good. Inspiring," Grantaire told him, turning over the paper of the speech he had just finished preparing for Bahorel. They were sitting at a corner table in the largest room of the bunker, it seemed to currently be the common meeting room for everyone else, as the room was full and filled with boisterous chatter. The dawn of the new day was upon them, and despite everything that had transpired the night before they were friendly again, and Enjolras felt a small feeling of hope still within him.

"You think?" Enjolras asked, hating that the uncertainty and doubt inside of him carried into his tone. "I didn't exactly show restraint when I mentioned death."

He'd never been one to question his words, but he found himself more unsure of himself as each life passed. Grantaire gave him a reassuring smile as though he could read his thoughts. 

"If there is one thing to look forward to if we are to keep repeating this godforsaken constant, it's the differences you make in your speech, they never fail to rapture a crowd. A lesser man— and by that I mean me— would simply plagiarize his own past work."

Despite knowing that Grantaire was speaking in jest, Enjolras frowned at the idea and thought about it seriously.

"I suppose a side effect of experiencing constant death has made it easier to discuss it as a possibility."

"You talk of death as if you are warning potential suitors who are considering courting her,” Grantaire explained. “An old lover you don’t fear but are not particularly fond of meeting again, either."

Enjolras, having had no experience with courting old lovers wasn't sure how much of an exaggeration this analogy was. "Still, I was supposed to inspire them to have the courage to fight, not scare them away."

"You are always inspiring," Grantaire said graciously. "Cold hard truths can instill the gravity of a situation just as much as uplifting hope. Lucky for you, you talk of both as though they are two sides of the same man. Calling to the naive believers of greater horizons, and jaded sufferers tired of others oppression alike." He raised the flask in a half cheers and offered an encouraging grin. "You are truly the unity leader."

"And what if we're leading them to their own demise again?" Enjolras said, ignoring the fact that the title leader no longer applied to himself, he could not help himself but ask the question that had been lingering on the tip of his tongue since waking in this life and the last. It had partly been why he had chosen to take a step back from offering insight into the strategies of this lifetime. "Wouldn’t I just be their escort to eternity? An ally to the reaper? Why do I continue to come back and repeat the same mistakes? What if the mistake I’m supposed to stop repeating isn't a single action that can lead to victory, but discarding the entire cause, and saving the lives lost to it.”

Even as he said these words he regretted them. Speaking them aloud felt like a betrayal. He half expected Grantaire’s eyes to meet his own with judgement, but of course there was none there. 

“You think about yourself too much,” Grantaire told him with a dismissive wave.

“What?” Enjolras asked incredulously, he couldn't help but be offended by the notion. Grantaire was amused at his reaction.

“What I mean to say is, you said it yourself in a life before this— this is greater than one person, even you. Just as you can’t be solely responsible for leading us to victory, you also can’t tear down their efforts into ceasing to exist by the act of not participating. I know that much from experience. Besides, despite how inspiring you are, you really think you can convince these guys to not try to change the world?" When Enjolras still looked unsure, Grantaire continued, changing his approach. "It's a shame really, because if the responsibility of victory were to be left in just one man's hands, I’d choose it to be yours every time."

Enjolras could not help but be touched by the sentiment. Before he could tell him so, he was interrupted by Bahorel, standing over him with urgency.

"Hey, did you have a chance to finish that thing?" He said through the cigarette between his teeth, clicking open his silver lighter with shaky fingers and pressing the flint wheel multiple times, struggling to ignite a flame.

"Here," Grantaire said, handing him the paper before Enjolras could take it back and make last minute corrections. There was a shine in Bahorel's gaze as he took it and looked between the two of them. But he left the question in his eyes unsaid.

"Nice! Onwards to rally the troops!"

"You're not even going to read it first?" Enjolras asked, his doubts suddenly returning to him.

"No time," Bahorel said quickly. "Even if we didn't have a plan, we'd need to move out now. Our lookout just radioed to say our position has been compromised. We're going to be crawling with those fuckers within the hour."

Bahorel took no time further to explain, striding to the middle of the room and standing on the table in a hurried excitement, he drew the eyes of the whole room to him, Grantaire looked delighted at this, a certain vindication in his face.

“Brothers!” He said, his loud voice beckoning the room as he looked towards the paper. “Fate may not be on our sides and death may be on our horizons,” the room stilled at this, awaiting what would come next, “but we have no control of destiny or Fate, what we do have control over are our actions. And in the grand scheme of life and death, all we have are the choices we make going forward from this point. To treat your fellow man with dignity, to demand justice and fairness for all, it is not a question of the greater good, but a question of whether you see your neighbor as your brother. Whether we see a starving man on the streets and deny him bread if we have plenty. We cannot be certain our actions will keep ourselves alive, but I believe in justice, and I am ready to die for her liberation from the corrupted that hold her in contempt! And, if you believe as I do that our actions are for the betterment of our brothers, then we will not die when facing a gun. We will be liberated with her in death!”

There was quiet for a moment as the passionate words sunk into Bahorel’s audience with gusto, then an outburst of emotion and excited energy lit up the room as righteous fury and passionate hunger to move forward burst through. His friends rose to accept their assignments from him in an enthusiastic motion.

"I vaguely recall trying to convince you about the power of the table," Grantaire said over the excited cries and shouts with a raised eyebrow. “Regardless, don’t ever say you’re not inspirational."

It didn’t take long for the room to clear out, Enjolras stayed behind to receive their instructions from Bahorel whilst Grantaire left to grab their things. Only a few were left in the room when Enjolras approached.

“I need you two to take the east along this path,” He said drawing a line along the map with his finger. “There’s an old underground railway that’s no longer in use, if you walk along the tracks until you reach the station  _ here _ ,” he jabbed a section of the paper with his finger, “then team Eagle will be able to meet you on top and let you up. 18:00 two days from now is the goal for everybody to be in place. If everything goes to plan they should have cleared the area before they get to you. The barracks the people are being kept in is only feet away from your entry point. We’re trying to flank them from all sides, less men on each means less chance of being caught - that’s the working theory anywho. Hopefully we’ll all meet again in two days' time.”

“I’ll see you there,” Enjolras said, instilling more confidence into the words than he was currently feeling.

Bahorel lifted his wristwatch and indicated for Enjolras to do the same, making sure their times were matching before handing him the map and a large long black box with a cylinder tube on the bottom and an antenna at the top . 

“You don’t want to know what I had to do to get these,” he laughed seeing Enjolras’ bewildered expression at the device. Just as he was beginning to think that some time within the next two days he and Grantaire would need to figure out how to operate it, Bahorel explained how the two way radio worked. He was relieved that this technology was not only new to him but to the world as well for once. After handing him a case of grenades, a flashlight and the last two boxes of shotshells, he spoke again. “Even though you’ll be underground, we’ll give you a heads up before we make the big move, just to check you’re in position. I have the other receiver.” 

“Take care,” Enjolras said to him as he turned to leave.

“I’m assuming you won your argument?” Bahorel said, when Enjolras looked at him over his shoulder he had a daring grin.

“It was more a mutual agreement in the end,” Enjolras explained, slightly embarrassed.

“Good for your inner peace, terrible for my love of the dramatics,” Bahorel said with a shake of his head. Enjolras smiled at him before making his way down the tunnel towards the room, ready to head out as soon as Grantaire had packed. 

When he walked inside he found him the opposite of ready, the contents of the pack strewn across the floor as he was frantically lifting the mattress on the cot.

“Have you lost something?” Enjolras asked concerned, there was not a lot of time before their presence here would put them in danger.

“I’ll just be a minute!” he seemed undeterred by his entry, not looking towards him as he continued to search.

Enjolras had meant to ask what he was searching for, so he could offer help but seeing the panicked look on Grantaire’s as he lifted the other cot, he thought he knew. 

“Grantaire,” he said slowly, kneeling down to join him where he was on the floor, and placing what was in his hands beside him, careful to keep his tone gentle. “Whatever you’re looking for, you don’t need it.”

“Did you hide it?” His voice was high pitched, his eyes wild, Enjolras noticed for the first time that his hands were shaking.

“Of course not,” he said patiently, placing items that were previously thrown out into the open pack before him. “But we have to leave  _ now _ .”

“You don’t understand,” Grantaire rose his shaky hands to his head and ran them through his hair. “I  _ can’t- _ I tried -” He choked on his words, a desperate plea behind his eyes.

“Stay here.” Enjolras said suddenly as he rose to exit the room.

Hurrying back to the largest room, he found it empty. The last remnants of his friends had left which meant that they needed to get out of there as well. Nevertheless, Enjolras looked around the room with deliberate care, before his eyes fell onto the corner table they had been sitting at. There, on the floor it had fallen, perhaps unheard amongst the boisterous comradery. Enjolras bent to pick up the flask, its contents half empty, almost sprinting down the tunnel the moment it was in his hands.

“Here,” he threw it to a startled Grantaire, as he bent and shoved the remainder of the things around them into the bag, he could hear Grantaire’s breathing even out, as he fastened the pack shut and took one more sweeping look around the room to make sure nothing was missed, he heard the small strangled sob that Grantaire had tried to hide. 

“You’re okay,” Enjolras said, shifting towards him, and placing a comforting hand on his knee. When Grantaire refused to look at him, his still shaky grip tight around the flask as he took a deep breath, he listened to his instincts instead of the looming urgency of the situation, Enjolras pulled him into a tight embrace, holding his shoulders steady as his hand found a place in his hair, he felt Grantaire still in his arms at the touch, his breathing less strained against him. The first time Enjolras had ventured to hug him in all the times they’d suffered together, and holding him now he wondered why it had taken him so long to extend this kindness to the both of them. 

“You’re okay, and we’re getting out of here.”

Grantaire allowed him to take his hands and pull him upwards when he withdrew, grabbing the bag and leading him out of the bunker in a rush.

* * *

By the time they had decided to stop and find camp, it was night and cloudy overhead, and even in the darkness Enjolras could see that Grantaire was coping terribly. His flask had emptied when the sun was still in the middle of the sky, and each hour that passed after he became more silent and his face was distorted in a pained expression. When Enjolras would ask him how he was feeling, he kept his words short and his face determined. Telling him that he was fine when he was clearly struggling.

Enjolras had a broken and disturbed sleep, but even more troubling was that each time his slumber was interrupted, he would cast a glance over to where Grantaire lay and find him still awake, restless, and shaking. By the time morning came and Enjolras had awoken for good, Grantaire looked terrible and he didn’t need to wonder if he had slept at all. It was clear his night was long and suffering. 

They stopped many times for him to rest on the second day, and Enjolras extended him words of comfort and small touches of reassurance, but even with the interruptions the most part they were still ahead of schedule. By the time the sun was setting, Grantaire had removed his jacket and sweat through his shirt, his breathing long and laboured.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked him for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

Grantaire shook his head, the sweat beads on his forehead finding release as he did so, then a moment later had run over to a fallen log that was close by, his body jerking as he retched over it. The radio suddenly emitted a static hum and a crackled voice came through the receiver.

“You still alive? Over.” 

Enjolras reached for it, sending a worried glance over his shoulder to where Grantaire was still heaving over the log. Following the directions Bahorel gave him earlier, he pressed the wide strip on the side of the box with three fingers, hearing the click of static disappear and assumed it was working.

“Yes, we’re on track to be there in a few hours.” Enjolras hoped that they would make it there on time for the plan, but as he looked over to where Grantaire was currently pale and shaking, he suddenly had doubts. 

He released the button and was met with static again, before Bahorel’s voice came through the box. “Stay in place when you arrive and I’ll call again when we’re ready. 18:00. Over and out.” 

Enjolras took a moment to relieve his shoulders from the heavy pack, and placed it at the base of a nearby tree before he walked over to where Grantaire was emptying his stomach. At a loss of what else to do, he placed a hand on his shoulder, moving it up and down his back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. He let his hand stay at the crook of Grantaire's back long after he had finished retching and found himself wishing that he could do more to help. It seemed that whatever he was going through was exhaustive, and he had no clue how to relieve him.

Grantaire stayed quiet for a while, taking slow sips from his canteen of water and resting his head in his arms, when he finally lifted it, he moved his chin to rest there instead. Looking out hazily to the pink horizon of the setting sun.

"Enjolras?" He asked after a long while of silence, his voice weak and timid. Enjolras shifted in place, and removed his hand from the warmth of his back at the sound of his voice. Grantaire swallowed before he continued looking down at the near empty canteen. "Do you have things you wish you could leave behind in the old worlds?"

"Of course." Enjolras replied, his tone low and gentle.

"I'm not talking about memories," Grantaire hesitated before closing his eyes and shaking his head, his short stubble rubbing against his sleeve. "I mean, are there things that are a part of you that you wish you could leave behind?" His voice cracked slightly on the word and he ran a distracted hand through his hair. "It's hard enough having to go through everything after death again. Why do I have to go through this too?"

Once again, Enjolras didn't need any more context to know the ' _ this' _ he was referring to. For the past three lifetime's, and he supposed the one before it, Grantaire had ran into struggles abandoning the drink. Now he had no choice but to exhaust it from his system, Enjolras finally saw just how much it had grappled him.

Grantaire placed a tired hand over his eyes and groaned in anguish. 

"Talk to me about something.  _ Please _ ."

"What do you want to talk about?" 

"I don't know,  _ anything _ . I just need a distraction." Grantaire paused for a moment to take a few deep breaths. "Are you still thinking about your complicated relations with the personification of death?" 

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Have you come to a conclusion on where you stand?" Grantaire prodded, his tone slightly desperate. "Old lover? Ally? Travelling companion?" 

"Nemesis?" Enjolras offered glumly. 

"Ah, the old adage of using spite to succeed." Grantaire said, adjusting himself so that his back was now leaning against the log. Enjolras was relieved to see he no longer looked pale, and it seemed his shaking had stopped as well, he was worn out, tired and destroyed, but his fevered state seemed to have passed. “What better motivator?”

"There are even worse things than facing death in this new world," he replied grimly. "But still, it seems to be the only thing I can think about lately."

As though on queue he arrived overhead, the Ravens wings spread wide and flourished, beating three times before perching itself on a tree branch opposite them.

"Oh for-" Grantaire buried his face in his palms when he saw him and groaned. "Yes, we get it. Our death is on the horizon.  _ Thank you _ for the constant reminder. Could you please leave us at peace for just one minute!"

When the bird didn't move, Grantaire snatched up the empty flask beside him and threw it towards the branch in anger. The Raven took flight before it could make contact. Taking to the skies in silence and disappearing amongst the clouds. The flask hit the tree with a dull clink before falling to the ground below.

"That's not going to buy us any good favours, is it?" Grantaire said regretfully with a wince. 

"I don't know," Enjolras smiled, finding humour in the misery of it all. "Maybe in order to metaphorically beat death you must first best him in a physical battle."

Grantaire emitted a surprised laugh, and Enjolras was relieved to hear his energy returning.

"We should get going," Grantaire said, rising to his feet slightly unsteadily.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"No," Grantaire shook his head weakly. “But if I don’t move now I’ll stay here forever and die on that log. I’ll be damned if that raven has a chance to peck at my eyes.”

An hour later, when they found the opening to the abandoned railway, they entered it with some difficulty, once inside the walk was dark and silent. The only light to guide their way was the flashlight between them. Finally, they had found the station Bahorel had pointed to on the map and the way ahead provided a fork in the path, and opened up two exits through another tunnel. At least they had more than one option for escape if something went wrong. They sat beside each other, tired from the journey. Enjolras wasn’t sure if he should wait for Bahorel’s word or call himself to let him know they had made it there. Thinking it better not to give away Bahorel’s position, he decided to wait. His eyes not moving from his watch in nervous anticipation.

When 6 PM came, he held his breath, waiting for the call. When the minute passed without a word, he shared an uneasy glance with Grantaire. A quarter hour came and went, and then another, and still, his radio stayed silent.

Hesitantly he pressed his fingers to the side and spoke into it.

“We’re in position. Is anybody there?” Only silence met him when he released his grip.

Enjolras tried again, and again until an hour had come with no response, no word, and no sign of anybody overhead about to open the roof for them.

Growing desperate, Grantaire eventually snatched the radio and shouted into it, clicking and unclicking the receiver in a futile effort, begging for a response, but he was only met with static. 

" _ Fuck _ !"

He threw it down in his frustration and kicked it away, sending it in pieces and pacing the platform before defeatedly leaning up against the wall sliding down again. Enjolras watched him in silence. The reality of their situation had been downcast before, but now it was evident that there was no hope left to grasp on to.

"This isn't the one, is it?" Enjolras asked with a sad smile leaning his head back against the wall, although a part of him had known it since the start. With nobody above them to let them out, it was only a matter of time before someone either found them in here after searching the area their friends had been assembling or cornered them when they tried to venture out.

"No," Grantaire sighed. "No, It's not."

"I don't want to die this way," Enjolras clutched his gun to his chest tightly. The dark shadows of the tunnel providing a cold claustrophobia around him. "Not in here. Not when we haven’t done anything to help out there."

Grantaire met his lament with a sad silence of his own before looking up above them. His expression changed to one of deep thought as he crooked his head at the metal roof above them.

“Maybe we don't have too.” Grantaire rose suddenly with his words, his palm clasping his gun and pointing it upwards. Standing on his toes he scraped its barrel along the roof, pressing in certain places, looking for something, although Enjolras had no idea what. He seemed to find it a moment later when he hit the roof in an area and was met with a hollow sound. He made an excited noise of discovery. Enjolras looked at him expectantly as Grantaire turned to him with new energy. "Look, we just know, right? We're going to die in this one. So let's die out there on purpose, not in here waiting for it. Lets for once have some kind of say in the circumstances of our death."

"You have a plan," Enjolras realized with a start, rising to his feet as well.

"A rough one. If you can even call it that," Grantaire pointed upwards to the place the hollow sound came from. 

"They were supposed to let us out here. If they could open it from the outside we should be able to open it from the inside with enough force. It's just going to be loud which means we are going to be noticed no matter what we do next. But we might be able to steer them in the wrong direction. I'll climb up and find the people as quickly as I can and tell them to climb down. They'll be alerted as soon as we blow the exit but there should be a small amount of time before they get to me. If I'm not shot straight away I'll cause some kind of distraction, I don't know what exactly but I'm pretty adept at them, so it should be fine. I'll be purposely loud and clumsy and they're going to kill me soon after - meanwhile you stay here. Lead the people I can get down here into the left tunnel but don't follow them, wait for whoever is outside to come down here and run into the right tunnel. Hopefully they'll believe the misdirection and follow you thinking that's where everyone else is too. Make sense?"

Enjolras was so impressed by his improvised idea that he could have kissed him, had it not been for something stirring within him and holding him back, he might have. Instead he nodded firmly and got to work. They placed two of the grenades flimsily into a divet in the roof near the place the hollow sound came from, before each taking a remaining one for themselves. Tying a thin rope to the pins, they walked what they assumed to be a safe distance away.

"Okay," Grantaire said with a shaky breath. "If this doesn't work all we're doing is giving our position away. Ready?"

"Wait," Enjolras said, stopping him before he could pull the rope. Despite feeling as though this plan was the best choice they had, he was terrified of dying apart from him. Enjolras put his unspoken fears into a tight embrace, pulling Grantaire into himself with urgency. 

"You will find me next life, won't you?" he asked him when they parted.

"Of course" Grantaire said, sounding slightly taken aback by the action and the fear in Enjolras' voice.

"Try not to die before me this time, okay?" Enjolras smiled before nodding at the rope, telling him wordlessless he was ready for whatever followed.

"I didn't realise it was a race. Are you telling me I've been winning this whole time?"

"Oh, just pull the thing already." 

Grantaire smiled widely at him. He hesitated for a brief moment before pulling Enjolras back into another quick hug, when he withdrew a moment later his hands lingered on his shoulders, holding Enjolras at arms length and meeting his gaze with a firmness in his own.

"I'll always find you," he told him with finality.

Enjolras didn’t have time to process these words, as a moment later Grantaire had pulled the rope, and the loud explosion that followed gave a wind that pushed him back and made his ears ring. Miraculously, it had worked and the roof blew wide open, giving them an opening and light from somewhere above. With no ladder to work with, Enjolras gave Grantaire a boost with his shoulder, helping him up and out of the newly torn place above them. He had only the briefest parting sighting of his face as he tied a rope to something and threw it down to Enjolras before he disappeared into the night.

He only had a moment to feel the cold and loneliness without him before a commotion was heard up ahead and a crowd of people began to make their way down the rope unsteadily. They looked days away from death, confused, scared and hungry but they hurried when he directed them to the tunnel, giving one of them his flashlight knowing he would not be needing it further. There were gunshots and shouts up above, and people were no longer descending - he could only hope it was because they had all made it down and not because they had been shot. 

Waiting until the last person had disappeared from sight down the left opening, he made his way over to the right, just in time for men with guns to descend and for the chase to give way, he was followed by shouts and shots in an instant.

But there was a part of Grantaire's plan that had a fatal flaw. He realized now that after he was shot there would be a good chance they would check the other tunnel and find the people there, and as much as it was in his power, he would not allow that to happen.

"I'm sealing the path!" He called out to nobody, hoping his bluff and next action would be enough. Enjolras pulled the pin of his last grenade just as a bullet hit his back. He heard a panicked yell behind him as those that followed him attempted to retreat before the explosion caved them in.

Enjolras was surrounded by a blinding light and deafening ring of quiet when the blast went off, the world surrounding him in white before the final approaching nothingness.

But something very strange happened to Enjolras after his death. He was not met with the unmistakable chill of a cold world outside of this one, nor did Death's presence wrap around him or meet him somewhere in between this world and the next one. Nor did he see himself falling from an impossible height into a new body.

He merely opened his eyes, and woke up in an unfamiliar world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this house we stan Bahorel and allow him to be as messy as he wants. We also let Enjolras say Fuck.
> 
> Oh also Enjolras' outfit is inspired by the French resistance of WWII. Even though he's not French in this chapter I thought it was fitting :)


	5. Unhooking The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has hit a wall and feels helpless about their current situation. Grantaire tries a new technique to pull him out of it. Strange things are occurring in this life and Enjolras feels as though he is being left in the dark about something. Grantaire reveals a secret about their last life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh General Lamarque, we're really in it now....
> 
> Buckle in, the journey forward only gets wilder form here. 
> 
> Apologies to my beta Taye for ruining her makeup while she read this - that's your only warning for whats ahead dear reader. <3

The sensation of awakening in a new life after death with nothing in between was disconcerting to say the least. Enjolras’ body and mind were on fire as he blinked and tried to adjust to the light cascading into the room. His whole being was exhausted, as though he had carried the pain of death with him over to this life. He felt confused, out of place, his head spinning and surrounded by a dull, pounding. He would not wish this sensation on anybody. If anything the suddenness of being forced to wake in a completely new body was more painful than the slow transition between the worlds.

Allowing himself a minute to just be and not think, Enjolras rubbed at the aching in his temples. This constant of life was beginning to wear him down. He felt each burden that was carried through with him tremendously, with each new beginning bringing new information he had to retain and comprehend at a moment's notice. He supposed he should have been happy he wasn’t dropped into another frightful situation from the start again, he couldn’t imagine waking with no transition period into chaos and being able to leap into action. 

How had Grantaire managed to do it? 

His mind went to Grantaire as he slowly lifted himself up, shifting his legs over the side of the bed. Was this how he had felt everytime he died and awoke anew? He would have to remember to ask him, and with this thought a sudden and intense need to be reunited with him came too. Despite his protesting limbs, he rose quickly from the bed.

The clothes in his bureau felt strange at his touch, their fabrics unfamiliar to his hands, though he knew in some strange way whoever came before him felt them thousands of times before in this body and lifetime. He knew if he dug deep enough he might recall memories of purchasing them, but even the idea of doing so fatigued him. It was fruitless to wonder how much he had forgotten of his past lives whenever a new life made room for new information. He had lost the ability to recall his mother's address before this, but now more had seeped away from him slowly; the names of the teachers that had mentored him, the route he had taken in Paris many times on late walks, or even the details of what Grantaire’s face looked like as he clasped his hand in Paris. It was nothing but a fog of shadows and feelings now, and that was a terrible realization, the seemingly endless amounts of futile grasping for lost memories was beginning to make him dizzy. 

Pushing this away, he instead chose to focus on what Grantaire’s face was like now as he dressed himself and the name that came with it. A smile slowly stretched across his face when he realized it was French. He knew his address too and he allowed himself to relax slightly knowing he'd find him soon.

There was so much to discuss with him, he was desperate to ask what had happened above and looking forward to seeing him, made a beeline for the door. 

A shrill, loud ring sprang to life from the device mounted on the wall causing him flinch and pause in his tracks. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. The ugly yellow thing rang loudly again, beckoning him to answer and he was reminded briefly of the two way radio he’d used in the last life as a helpful memory told him the device was a telephone and worked in a similar way. Picking up the heavy handset uncertainly from its cradle, Enjolras unquestionably followed muscle memory and brought the phone to his ear. 

"Hello?" He asked uncertainly, relaxing when a bubbly laugh greeted him back.

"Hey!" It was strange to hear Joly’s voice through the handset of the phone, it seemed distant and hollow, as though a barrier was between them, still it was nice to hear from him and the novelty of having a discussion with someone who was not in the same room was still not lost on him. "You're alive!"

"Barely," Enjolras found himself responding as he rubbed the ache beginning to form in his shoulder. 

Hearing Joly speak had prompted the untethered knowledge of the events from the night before to come to him. They had been marching in the streets under a banner boasting the Romanian flag, protesting the results of the recent election which had obviously been tipped in the winning parties favour undemocratically. When the police had arrived to shut them down and they’d dispersed and given chase, whoever had been inhabiting this body before him had been violently pulled to the ground and pummeled before he had managed to get to safety. At least he knew the pain he carried with him was from the physical ramifications of this life, and not something he had been punished with from the last.

"Well if you aren't completely wrecked come meet us for breakfast." There was something off about his tone, although it was as pleasant as always, almost too much so.

"I can’t, I was just heading out to meet someone," as much as he heard Joly’s insistence, he had to find Grantaire, each minute he wasn’t in his company he was becoming more anxious. He wondered if he had woken yet. If he had left his building and was making his way to him instead, he had after all promised to find him.

“Who?”

“Ren é ?” Enjolras replied hesitantly, the name felt wrong on his tongue when he said it, as though he’d slipped into an unfamiliar moniker he had no right to use.

"Ah, sorry. I’m afraid I had to call in a favour and rearrange his plans today.” 

Enjolras felt his heart drop as Joly said this, the idea of not seeing Grantaire for some time and being unable to speak to him was distressing, he could not help but feel hurt that finding him again was not Grantaire’s first priority. 

“He's a man out and about town today,” Joly continued. “As are we, as you will be soon too, come to breakfast. You  _ must _ ."

Sensing the urgency behind his words, Enjolras reasoned he likely didn’t have much of a choice and reluctantly agreed to meet them, deciding he could not trust his aching mind to remember it without an aid, he wrote down the name of the intersection Joly wanted him to meet in the small black book next to the phone,. 

The streets he passed were a heavy contrast of each other. The city split in two different worlds as side streets and restaurants contained people laughing and dining as though it were just another day, living as though there was no turmoil around them but upon turning a corner mere feet away from their comfortable existence the streets looked more akin to a war torn city. Rubble and blood stained corners were sectioned off, guarded by the boots that gleefully abided to the martial law that had set. It was a surreal existence, to see a couple hand in hand, lost within and each other and giggling as they passed the smashed stained glass and bullet ridden cathedral as though it was simply window dressing to their love. He supposed it may have been this way for so long that it now seemed normal to so many. Still, a familiar turning in his stomach plagued him with worry. If they were so complacent now with this surrounding them, what on earth would make them rise?

The thought of others choosing their own path and lives over joining in their fight had never brought bitterness within him before— in fact it had previously been something he'd encouraged.He had thought the death for a worthy cause of those who had others depending on them was a waste. But now he was not so sure, and found himself almost mad at their apathy and lack of action. Would it forever be their cross to bear to lead an effort that would benefit others? Why couldn't they see that they were stronger as one or that their inaction only served to further keep them tethered to misery and hardship? Would nothing he did ever be enough? Was this truly human nature? To stand by and watch the suffering of others without objection?

Thinking this as he passed a newstand, Enjolras almost missed something that caught the corner of his eye, snapping him out of his thoughts. Double taking at the headline he snatched up the paper into his hands. It couldn’t be, with everything that had happened, now this? He scanned the page a third time to make sure he was reading the date right. Perhaps he had miscalculated?

He had to concentrate with some difficulty to remember the exact eras he'd fallen into. His mind working fast to work out the time difference. But no —  he hadn’t been mistaken.

_ 1868 _

_ 1893 _

_ 1912 _

_ 1938 _

By his calculations, every time he had been brought back alive it had sent him forward in increments of about twenty to thirty years. At least, it had until now. He stared at the newspaper in awestruck wonder, his mouth hanging open slightly. 

_ July 9th 1985.  _

First he woke up without death or falling or any grand introduction to life and now he had been barrelled forward in time faster than he'd ever been before. It was as clear as day that there was no real pattern for him to clasp onto or learn from, and yet his mind still reeled and panicked at the realization that it had been almost 50 years since his last life. 

_ What is going on? _

“This isn’t a library! Buy it or drop it.” The burly man behind the newsstand held his hand out expectantly to Enjolras.

In a daze he fished a coin out of his back pocket and hurried off with the paper, not even bothering to wonder if the amount he’d given was correct. He desperately needed to find Grantaire. An anxiety needled away at his mind that something was off about this, though he couldn’t know what, a nagging instinct was incessantly telling him something had gone terribly wrong. Every time he thought he was getting a handle or some kind of indication for how any of this worked he was taken for a fool, and if time was moving forward faster, he needed to know if he was possibly running out of it.

When he reached the intersection he was told to meet them, Bossuet and Joly were already there waiting for him.

“Come walk with us to the park,” Joly greeted with a smile and a clap to the back, leading the way. “The restaurants are terribly crowded to try to have any decent conversation.”

  
It seemed breakfast was just an excuse to talk of their plans and debrief on the events of the night before as there was no food in sight as they talked in low voices. 

Enjolras learned that Joly had been shot through the leg when the chaos had started— a graze, but still giving him grief enough that every few steps he would wince and occasionally lean on Bossuet for support. Thankfully there had been no casualties that they were aware of, but it was clear that the longer they continued to take the streets at night, the more dangerous it would become.

“They’ve brought in tanks now. I saw them riding through from my window,” Bossuet remarked casually as he helped Joly take a seat when they’d finally found a secluded area of the park.

“When is everybody else meeting us?” Enjolras asked him.

“Tonight, just as soon as we’ve swept our usual place for bugs,” Joly absentmindedly brushed a stray blade of grass from his shoe.

“Bugs?” Enjolras asked, making a face.

Joly took care to look over both of his shoulders before replying in a lowered voice. 

“The phone lines. We can’t be too careful after last night's arrests. The bastards have been listening in on us when we plan. I thought we might be lucky and it might just be some fantastical conspiracy theory. It sounded crazy to me when Ren é first suggested it, but sure enough there was one on his phone, when I checked mine there was one there too. I’d venture a guess there’s one on yours as well. It’s why we needed to speak in person this morning.” 

“How did he know about that?” Enjolras was perplexed, he had barely been able to pick up a phone call, let alone make one and search for listening devices, his own mind was still catching up to small details in this world, the idea of wrapping his head around new technology so quickly was unthinkable. 

“I don’t know,” Joly said with a shrug. “Just said he had a hunch when we saw him this morning. Something about an old friend experiencing the same thing not long ago.”

Something was wrong about this, and Enjolras could feel it eating away deep within him, the anxious sense of dread and panic tightening around his heart and throat. He had no idea what to think of any of this, all he knew was that he desperately needed to speak to Grantaire. The wait until the night fell without him would be long and harrowing.

Joly placed his chin in his open palm and breathed a long sigh. “Sometimes I wonder when our lives became so bizarre, I guess it's true what they say about reality being so much more strange and terrible than fiction.”

“More tragic too,” Bossuet said as he leant his back against the tree, his sad eyes lingering briefly over Joly’s back.

“Look at this!” Joly exclaimed in disgust as he picked up the newspaper Enjolras had purchased and opened the pages in an angry rush. “Curfews being set, but not a single word as to why they need them! A week straight of protests and civil unrest and not a single story even mentioning it! How the hell are we supposed to get more people to join us if nobody even knows we’re even demanding change?”

“It’s deliberate, they own everything from the polling booths to the newspapers,” Bossuet said with a tired frown. “They think if they suppress us long enough it will all go away. They know we’re exhausted.” 

“Exhausted is only the half of it. Physically we can maybe keep this up for a month or two, but mentally...” Joly sighed as he tightened the grip he had on his leg. “We've been lucky so far but it won’t be long until they grow tired of intimidating us and actually shoot to kill. With the tanks come the military, with them comes a force I don’t know if we can handle. Our numbers get smaller every night. People are restless and desperate for change, but they’re also getting tired and scared. They’re beginning to lose hope.”

“I know the feeling.” 

Enjolras had not meant to say it aloud, it had slipped out in a fatigued mistake, he had repressed the thought for so long that it had become desperate for release. Thankfully when he looked up he was not met with judgement from his friends, but sympathetic nods. It seemed they were also running out of optimism as they all fell into a contemplative silence. 

The weather and season struck the wrong mood for the sorrowful thoughts within his mind; the bright and promising skyline and blooming wildflowers seemed to mock him as he basked in the hot sun and clear day, laying his head amongst the grass as though it were a lazy summer day of leisure. The day should have inspired him to think of brighter horizons, yet it only made his dread stronger and cement his doubts. The looming promise of a better new day was a lie, he knew this now, he had been shown through repetitive force that his prior optimism was an arrogant mistake, and now the new world was throwing it back in his face. A cruel tease from the heavens before the floor would disappear beneath him once more. Heaven for good deeds remaining a promise that would never come to fruition.

And promises it seemed were mere empty words made to be broken and forgotten. Grantaire had promised to find him again but half the day had passed and he was nowhere to be seen. The longer the minutes passed without his company the more anxious and doubtful Enjolras became. There was so much to discuss, so many new questions and worries and his only confidant was gone. He supposed it shouldn’t matter anyway, they could talk for minutes or hours or days and it would make no difference to their predicament, the result would always be the same, he was convinced of it now. 

Still, Enjolras had to admit to himself that even in the small hours of absence that he missed Grantaire’s company more than he’d thought was possible. It wasn’t just about having an understanding and relatable ear to voice his concerns to, it was the absence of his words, his smile, the oft strange humour, and now even the brief warmth of his hands in times of doubt that he had grown so accustomed and familiar to. He twisted his fingers around his own hand in an empty gesture, but the touch from his own skin did nothing to comfort him, and only caused a greater ache and emptiness to emerge within his chest. He couldn’t place the restlessness within him. It both wanted for something as it simultaneously pushed it away. His heart felt as though it was lacking something crucial to his survival.

_ Bullets would be preferable to this. _ He thought with an annoyed huff as he watched the endless blue of the sky stretched out before him.

“I’m calling off tonight,” Joly said with grim determination, causing Enjolras to sit back up. “We need to regroup, give people time to rest and recover and try to recruit those who have dropped off back into the fight. Hell, let them think they’ve scared us off with this curfew. If they think we’ve given up when we strike twice as strong tomorrow they won’t be prepared.”

“Yeah!” Bossuet sat up with newfound energy, looking towards Joly as though the words he said were gospel, there was something about the fondness in his eyes that looked slightly familiar to Enjolras. Although he couldn’t place it, it still brought him an odd comfort. 

“Twice as hard and twice as loud. Even if the media ignores us they’ll have no choice but to hear us in the streets! Operation: Get Fucked Fascists is full speed ahead!”

Joly tried to look annoyed, but a moment later his face broke and joyous laughter burst through his resolve. "I told you we're not calling it that!"

"I know," Bossuet said with a wide grin, " _ I'm _ calling it that."

Enjolras wondered if the clear fondness between the two had always been there throughout their lives or if it had grown and developed over the course of over a century subconsciously. He supposed that they had always been quite close, but this seemed different. Their gazes lingered slightly too long, the way they smiled at each other was much brighter than when they smiled at him. He figured even if it had been there in Paris he likely would not have noticed. He seemed more aware of things like this now, and found himself not disliking that change. A small trickle of optimism returned to him as he watched their cheeks grow rosy and their expressions become joyous. 

He hoped for their sake that this was the world that worked, if only so they could continue to look that happy.

“I need you to go to take the east end of Timișoara and warn everybody to cease plans for tonight,” Joly said a few moments later, turning to Enjolras. “Let them know we’ll be stronger soon, and try to back that up by getting as many people on board for tomorrow as possible. It’s best if we stay away from phones right now so try and talk to as many people as you can in person. Vasile will take the west end and I’ll cover the rest.”

Enjolras was slightly surprised to find Bossuet trailing his path a step behind him considering he was supposed to take the opposite direction, looking towards him it was clear he wanted to get something off of his chest, he seemed to be struggling to find the opening to say it. Enjolras took pity and spared him the agony by opening the conversation.

“I can’t imagine we’ll be met with much resistance suggesting people should take the night off.”

“Yeah, between last night, the tanks and the curfew I don’t think many people will be keen to continue,” Bossuet sighed heavily, his face twisting into a conflicted expression. “Although I can’t pretend I don’t understand why. After all what's the point of fighting for a better world when the people you’re fighting for might not be in it much longer.”

“You’re worried about him getting hurt?” Enjolras asked, looking over his shoulder in the direction Joly had gone off.

“Am I really that transparent?” Bossuet gave a halfhearted laugh and ducked his gaze. “He can tell me as much as he wants that it’s just a scratch but I know that bullet is giving him a lot more pain than he wants to admit.”

Enjolras gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s not like we aren’t all painfully aware of the risks involved.”

“I know, I know. And none of the things I’m worried about are going to make me stop wanting to challenge tyranny or retreat to a life of blissful ignorance and compliance, but still…” Bossuet turned his head towards the street as a large military vehicle rolled through, as entwined within the traffic as though it were a civilian vehicle. “I feel like I need a stupid, dumb moment of self pity without someone turning it around into some big inspirational message to keep me going.”

“That works out fine for me,” Enjolras replied with a shrug. “I’m not particularly in the mood to inspire anybody right now.”

Bossuet gave him a grateful smile before stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. 

  
“I realize I’m going to sound like a child here, but it’s just so unfair! They've essentially robbed us of our youths — and I know, I  _ could _ choose to go about my best years like nothing matters and it’s a choice for me to care about this and actively oppose it and I could just do what so many others are doing right now and go have fun and have an actual breakfast that isn’t a code word for secret plans and pretend like our country is not overrun by election stealing cowards, but you and I both know that we can’t do that. Personally, morally, spiritually —  whatever the hell it is that makes us so unbearably tenacious is also the reason we all came to meet each other. So if I wasn’t that person, sure I might have a happier youth, but I also never would have met you or — or...” Bossuet gave a resigned sigh, “or him. And that’s what makes it so hard. If I hadn’t tossed away the normal, easy life for the liberty of others, I would have never gotten to know him, and I also would have never wanted that normal life we can’t have.”

Something tugged at Enjolras’ heartstrings, as he realized his reaction to hearing his words was not just sympathy, but something he could relate to as well. He thought about a world without the worry of a fight behind it and what that would mean. A world with time and no urgency and breathing room to think, and feel, and live. It was almost painfully incomprehensible with how impossible and far away it seemed. But if he  _ could _ imagine it… 

There was really only one thing he wanted, something he didn't dare wish for aloud or even within his own mind in case it would be snatched away from him. Before it could come to him completely he pushed the thought away. He wasn’t in a world where he could let himself hope for anything but success. Unfair as it may be it was the reality of his situation. Yet it was becoming harder and harder for those intrusive wants and thoughts to disappear completely from his mind in favour of reality. 

He clumsily tried to grasp at the right words to say instead in comfort. 

“You will get to live that life. I mean, that’s the whole freedom we’re trying to fight for right? It might not be here or now but we _ will  _ get there, and once we succeed you won’t have to worry about any of this.”

“You’re getting dangerously close to inspirational there,” Bossuet said with a teasing grin. 

“I can’t help it,” Enjolras said apologetically. Perhaps Grantaire had been right about his words, a small smile spread across his face at the thought of this.

“That’s okay, I secretly wanted to hear it anyway.” Bossuet clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. “I should get going, I’m about three blocks away from getting completely lost and losing the whole day burning a hole in my. Thanks for letting me feel sorry for myself.”

“We all need it sometimes.” 

“Well, if I can ever return the favour?”

“I’ll let you know,” Enjolras chuckled as he gave him a small wave which Bossuet returned, turning on his heel and tripping slightly on a break in the pavement.

  
  


* * *

The sun was retiring by the time Enjolras had reached every cul de sac within the area he’d been given, and although the task had been distracting and he had been met with some resistance when he spoke to others, he still felt each hour that passed without Grantaire’s presence. Joly had told him that they’d be meeting in their usual place once it was sufficiently found to not be rigged with eavesdropping devices. It seemed it was safe enough when Enjolras arrived, as he found it jubilant and boisterous with his friends' loud voices taking in much needed vices after a tedious week.

“Whoa, what’s your hurry?” Courfeyrac said with a laugh as he almost barrelled into him in his rush to get through the door. “We have maybe our last free night for the foreseeable future, take advantage of it with us!”

“Later,” Enjolras said quickly with no real intention to keep this promise. “Has Ren é arrived yet? I need to speak to him, it’s urgent.”

“Well you’re both rolling with the party spirit,” Bahorel said with an amused roll of his eyes. “He’s over there sulking in the corner.”

Whipping his head around in the direction of where Bahorel nodded, Enjolras instantly caught Grantaire’s eye, sitting in the corner table furthest from the bar. He had been looking at him with a furrowed brow when Enjolras smiled his way, relieved to finally be reunited with him but for some reason Grantaire didn't return it, he instead averted his eyes when their gaze met. Enjolras saw that it had not been anger or annoyance he had been looking at him with— but sorrow. 

Worry overtook him as he wondered what had happened between death and now to make him look so defeated, but he was determined not to be left in the dark any longer. Stepping away from the group, Enjolras strode over and took the seat opposite him. 

"I've been waiting to find you all day." He said with a slightly exasperated smile. Despite his annoyance, he was still relieved to see him and made this clear in his expression.

"You should know a rebellion never sleeps, I've been busy," Grantaire remarked cooly as he lifted the clear liquid to his lips. With the speed he drank it, he could only assume it was water. Enjolras frowned at him.

“Have you noticed? There's been so many strange things happening today that I have a hunch it won't be good news for us,” he said in a low tone. “I want to figure things out now before everything goes wrong."

Grantaire gave him a strange, hard look, as though he was studying every inch of him for some kind of tell and choosing his next words carefully.

“You don’t think we’ll succeed tomorrow?”

  
Enjolras looked at him with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head, his lips parting slightly as his confusion to his reactions grew by the second. Why was Grantaire acting so casually towards him? Was he judging him? There was nothing excited or relieved in his expression when he’d joined him at the table, in fact he’d seemed surprised that he had taken a seat opposite him despite his promise from the previous life. 

“Well, considering how we’ve had over a century of failure, I’m starting to think that the only option on the table is continuing to die," Enjolras replied slightly testily.

A long roll of ash fell from Grantaire’s cigarette and onto the table, the sullen look that he had been wearing broke at these words, replaced with a relief so strong that it seemed for a moment that he might cry.

“You remember dying?” He whispered with disbelief. 

“Of course I remember,” Enjolras said with a bewildered laugh.

Grantaire ran his hands through his hair and stared at him as though he were a ghost, Enjolras frowned, a terrible dread replacing the blood within his body, the next words he spoke came out as though he was speaking them a mile away. 

“Why would I not remember?”

“It’s nothing.” Grantaire said averting his eyes to the table between them.

“Why would I not remember, Grantaire?” Enjolras pressed, at the sound of his name he slowly raised his eyes from the table, his hands still tangled in his hair and an uneasiness in his face. The sickening anxiety Enjolras had been holding at bay suddenly manifested within him tenfold. 

“You didn’t last time.” Grantaire said, as though it were an apology.

Enjolras felt himself grow numb. Denial and disorientation tormented him as the reality of his words sunk into his mind. 

"But in the war-"

"That wasn't the last time." Grantaire said with a resigned sadness.

“That’s-” the word impossible lodged in his throat. Really nothing about any of this should be possible, and yet here they were. 

He swallowed hard, realizing with a numb anguish why time had moved forward so far for him. Connecting the pieces of why Grantaire would have information he did not after awakening into this life and why he hadn’t immediately come to find him when a lifetime had passed between now and his promise. It made too much and no sense all at once. He needed more information, something that would help him wrap his mind around this new reality. 

“Where were we?” He asked when he felt ready to speak again.

“Cuba.” Grantaire answered with reluctance. 

“How did we die?” 

When Grantaire merely shook his head and placed his head in his hand taking a long drag of his cigarette, Enjolras quickly changed course, it was clear the last life had pained him, and he did not want to put him through reliving it again if it wasn’t necessary. 

“How did you find out I couldn’t remember?” He asked instead.

“Pretty foolishly,” Grantaire sighed, moving his hand from his hair and resting his chin on his fist. He looked a little less shaken now by the revelation at least. “My timing for landing there was atrocious. The first night I woke up you thought I was drunk and talking friendly nonsense— I wasn't, by the way— I don't… I  _ can't _ touch it anymore. I wanted to after I found out about you of course, but I didn't." Despite the accomplishment, there was no sense of pride in Grantaire's voice when he said this. "It took me longer than I care to admit to realize you weren’t just brushing me off and actually had no memory, I just pretended that I was drunk in the end. It was easier than any other option.”

Enjolras felt devastated for him. It was hard enough going through this with somebody by his side, he himself had begun losing his confidence after mere hours without Grantaire's company, he couldn’t imagine not having somebody to confide in about it all throughout an entire life. An ache swept through his body for Grantaire, the life he had lived without Enjolras’ knowledge seemed to have hardened him slightly, he looked older, tired, and more pensive, but also personable. Though his face was world weary in this lifetime, it had a certain character to it. Enjolras caught himself staring as he took him in and quickly looked away.

“What’s happening to us?” he asked after placing his cheek in his hand, staring down at the table. 

  
“I wish I knew,” Grantaire said miserably, and Enjolras chanced another look towards him just as his expression changed into one of affection and excitement. "I'm really glad you're back though. I can finally tell you that I saw  _ him _ ."

Enjolras lifted his head slowly. "Death?"

Grantaire nodded with a wide smile, clearly eager to speak openly to him. "I asked him what it was I supposedly asked for."

"Did he tell you?" Enjolras asked urgently.

"Well it happened for the first time after I died in the barracks and he didn't say anything to me then, he just was sort of there, all around. He listened though, so maybe I offended him. I did have some choice words to say, a lot of them as well. Eventually he just dropped me without a word. That’s awful, by the way — you never told me — the falling thing? Not at all as ethereal or romantic as I had imagined. Just a huge pain in the ass. It hurt too. I wasn’t expecting that. I would have probably cussed him out for that as well this morning but before I could he gave me an answer.”

"What was it?"

"You're going to laugh," Grantaire deflected sheepishly with a wave of his hand.

"Tell me," Enjolras insisted.

Grantaire hesitated, a clear confliction in his eyes as he lifted them slowly to meet Enjolras' gaze.

"Remember right before we died the first time and I asked for your permission?"

Enjolras stared at him waiting for the rest of the explanation, when he realized it wasn't coming he raised his eyebrows, his mouth dropping open in shock.

"That's it?!"

"Apparently," Grantaire dropped his gaze looking slightly embarrassed. 

Enjolras groaned and dropped his head to the table. Clearly if there was an answer to find a way out of this, it didn't lie within their questions for Death. That knowledge was crushing. He had hoped at least if the mystery was solved a dot could be connected that would lead them to success. But Death continued to remain an enigma, even after so many experiences with him.

"Yeah,” Grantaire said after a long while of quiet. “I guess it isn’t actually that funny." 

“What can we do?” Enjolras lifted his head, the question was not one he expected an answer too, more one that he needed to say out loud for his own sanity. Enjolras was finally ready to match his cynicism and talk in dulcet tones about the nihilistic nature of life, to his surprise though, Grantaire smiled at him. 

“We just need to keep going until we find the one that sticks,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “This can’t be for nothing. There’s going to be one that stays with finality, we just have to do better each time. I know eventually it will work for us. It has to.”

Enjolras had never heard him talk like that before. He’d been encouraging in the past, and offered help, and always stuck by his side and followed his lead, but he’d never expressed such certainty in hope or success. He wondered what happened in the last life that he’d missed that had caused such a pivot, perhaps it was his conversation with Death and the feeling between worlds that had caused a moment of self reflection. Whatever it was, it was surreal to hear it come out of Grantaire’s lips.

“Was I — were we friends at least ?” Enjolras asked with a genuine worry. 

He’d hoped to subconsciously carry over some of the closeness they’d built throughout this time and not carry the burdens of their original relationship, which seemed so long and distant ago it was almost as though they were two different people. Grantaire leaned back in his chair, stubbing out his cigarette on the tray in front of him, a cryptic smile played gleefully on his face.

“You were my closest friend, despite the amnesia,” he said sentimentally. “It was the longest time I spent in a life — apart from the original of course, a little more than a month, I think. I lost track about halfway in. I thought it might actually be the one that took but,” he held out his hands and shrugged. “Here we are. I think we might be on the right track, all things considered.”

Something painful hit Enjolras knowing that there had been an entire month without him. He knew technically he had been there, but there was something tugging in his heart and in Grantaire’s smile that made him feel as though he had been the only one not invited to share a secret. He knew the thought was ridiculous, everybody here except for Grantaire hadn’t shared their memories, and yet there was a conflict within him, as though Grantaire had grown without him and he was beginning to be left behind. He seemed so confident now, and not in the way drinking had given him false bravado beforehand. He had genuine belief in the words he spoke, and Enjolras was hurt he had not seen the journey he had taken to get there.

The room was too loud and cheery, infecting his worried thoughts with laughter that seemed pointed and cruel and targeted towards his misery. The noise caused his nerves to be set aflame and his breathing to go shallow.

"I need to get out of here," Enjolras said urgently, rising with his words.

"I'll walk with you." 

Grantaire rose as well to join him, Enjolras had no objection, in fact he welcomed the company of the one person who could relate to him in this moment. 

They walked in silence for a good while, Enjolras was too lost in his own thoughts to try and bother to break it. Besides, it wasn't unpleasant, just having Grantaire walk beside him was a comfort. 

"If you'd like me to draw up some notes tonight to work through now that we're in something familiar again, I could probably find some similarities about the last life that might be useful." Grantaire said when they had reached Enjolras' building.

“Why bother?" Enjolras sighed defeatedly, the revelation of why time was lost to him and Death's answer finally crushing his last hope of optimism. The idea of going through each death with a needle point comb only to end up in the same situation was incredibly unappealing in his current headspace. "It's always going to be the same."

“You can’t believe that, Enjolras. You just can’t."

"Four failures - no, wait -five. Five if there's one that I can't even remember! This isn't some missed error, it's a curse."

Grantaire's expression dropped, the betrayal on his face peaking through from the streetlights above.

"Since when are  _ you _ a defeatist?" He asked as though Enjolras' attitude personally offended him.

"Since it seems impossible to win! I don't want to think this way but how can I not? After everything that's been thrown at us it seems this entire thing has been to show me that my beliefs are wrong. And it has! It's worked! I-" he hesitated, the words caught in his throat slightly as he spoke. "I don’t know what I believe in anymore." 

“Believe in you.  _ Please _ . I do." Grantaire placed a firm grasp on his shoulder as he said this. "More than ever. More than the first time we met. I think you were right the first time we came back and told me there has to be a reason, we have to get it right. If there's ever a day where I have more faith than you do, then there's no hope for either of us.”

Enjolras didn’t know if he could ever get the naive optimism he carried in their original lives back. Grantaire was looking at him, his expression falling deeper into concern the longer he said nothing, his grip loosening slightly as his hand threatened to fall from his shoulder. He couldn’t leave him so distraught without an explanation, reluctantly he decided to admit the other dark thoughts that had been on his mind. 

"Lately I've been thinking something terrible, but I can't get rid of the idea that for whatever reason when we died we weren't accepted into the heavens, and we can't get there because we're stuck here instead, in-” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word aloud. "The other place."

He was sure there was a time where Grantaire would have gladly entertained this thought, would have spoken at length of proof of suffering and wallowing pessimism underneath a layer of jest and a sharp bite of wit, but it seemed that time was long behind them. Because instead he shook his head fiercely, his face endlessly patient and sympathetic.

"That's impossible," Grantaire said kindly, taking a step closer towards him and moving his hand down to squeeze his arm in comfort. "The reason you always fall from the heavens is because you belong there. We're just…taking the long way back."

“I don’t fall anymore, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his face crestfallen. “I just wake up, like you used to.”

“Well four out of five times, my point still stands,” Grantaire paused for a moment when Enjolras still seemed unconvinced, changing his course. “Maybe he has something like a traveller limit where he can only ferry one of us at a time.”

Despite himself, Enjolras laughed at this and Grantaire smiled in relief, the light above him basking him in a light that highlighted the dimples on his cheeks. 

The moment settled, as quickly as it came, but there was a shift in the air that felt too sudden. Something terrifying and wanting. A change that could just as easily be leaned into as it could brushed off. Enjolras panicked, as the thought he wouldn’t let rise threatened to emerge. Seeking distance to push it back in its place, he turned back towards his building, allowing Grantaire's hand to drop.

“I should-”

“No, don't go just yet,” Grantaire interrupted, a desperation behind his words. “There’s something I want to show you first, if you want to. The last time we went through this, we had this thing we’d do to try and put things in perspective. I’m just a few blocks away, come up to my rooftop for a minute.”

He wondered if Grantaire was just trying to manufacture an excuse to keep convincing him that all was not lost. But a part of him hoped the reason was different. There was something inside of him that didn’t want to be left alone, a lonely ache within his chest begging to have his company. 

“Alright,” he agreed as Grantaire smiled and began to lead the way. “Why the rooftop?”

“It’s the best view for the stars,” he replied simply.

“Stargazing?  _ Really _ ?” Enjolras quirked an unimpressed brow.

“I know, I can’t believe I found a world where you’d voluntarily take time for yourself to do nothing,” Grantaire teased. “All it took was a complete reset.”

Enjolras restrained himself from rolling his eyes at this. He had never taken much time to consider the stars when their existence was nothing more than a bright white splatter against a cold dark night, their only real use was to guide him home at the end of long nights.

Grantaire’s building wasn’t all that tall, and it was surprisingly easy to gain his footing on the climb up. The only flat area of the roof barely had enough space for the two of them, but when Grantaire laid down to gain a better outlook, Enjolras followed suit. The space between them as they stayed that way in silence seemed simultaneously too close and too far apart. It was hard to focus on the stars above them when the gap seemed to be so definitively there, but he tried regardless, for Grantaire’s sake. 

In old times Jehan had called the stars a comforting reminder of permanence, but now their brightness seemed to mock him. A cruel barrier to the heavens stretched across a universe that he would never gain entry to, trapped instead in a world of his own mistakes. He thought there were less stars amongst the sky in this time, although he couldn't be completely sure as he’d never quite paid them much attention. Still, the night sky seemed darker in this world. He wondered if this was what he should have been paying attention to in all the worlds that passed them by. The small details that he never had much time for. A part of him had always told himself that he’d have all the time to do so once they had succeeded in their cause. Another, crueler voice told him it didn’t matter whether he noticed them, because the world would change shortly soon again when he died once more, and every detail he consumed was just something that would push another memory out of his mind.Grantaire had turned his head slightly towards him and out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras thought he saw a curious expression etched on his face, but when he turned his head to meet his gaze Grantaire’s easy smile greeted him.

“How on earth did you convince me to do this?” Enjolras asked with feigned annoyance. Truthfully there was an odd appeal to the vastness of it all stretched out before him. Even if its inspiration only resulted in self pitying thoughts. 

“Last time?” Grantaire thought for a moment, choosing his words as he fell quiet. “You were having a bad night and needed some air and some space so I suggested the actual wonders of space and sky. It seemed to help so we just kept doing it.”

“Are you sure that was me and not just some other poor revolutionary you dragged along with you?”

Grantaire laughed at this. “It was definitely you, Enjolras. It’s okay to admit that you like things outside of equality and justice for all.”

“They’re fine, I guess.” Enjolras said with an air of indifference. It was half a joke, part of the strange back and forth that they had somehow cultivated over time. Grantaire laughed again.

“Yeah, I see right through you,” Grantaire's voice had a playful tone but his expression was thoughtful. “You know, If you shift your perspective just a little, there can be some upsides to the curse that work in our favour.” 

_ Because you’re such an expert in optimism now _ . Enjolras bit back the retort that was hanging on the tip of his tongue, feeling it would be much too harsh and immediately feeling the sharp sting of shame from the mere existence of this opinion passing through his unfiltered thoughts. 

“Enlighten me,” he chose to say instead, and gracing him with a smile that he was sure did not meet his eyes. If Grantaire noticed, he was kind enough not to mention it, and pushed on with enthusiasm. 

“In a world where our existence need not be grounded to reality for more than a week or two, we don’t need to pay the landlord for the mere taxing career of providing us with barely liveable shelter. I myself spent the entirety of the allowance I found that would usually be reserved for the permittance to allow me to continue living in squalor on a meal at the fanciest restaurant I could find this evening. By ignoring my state of poverty and removing it’s shackles on my life, I had metaphorically and literally promoted myself into high society. Now, if only we could find a way to take the rest of the world with us on this daring journey through time, we could undoubtedly solve the crisis in housing that remains a constant wherever we go. That was probably already on your to do list in one life or another, and in danger of sounding like an old soul with nothing in the present but nostalgia for old times - what on earth corrupted the definition of a landlord or lady to mean a leech of life and finances?”

Sensing an oncoming tangent, Enjolras took advantage of the pause after the question to interrupt with one of his own.

“So what if by some miracle we live this time and you can't pay your rent?”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty in this whole scheme, Enjolras!” His attempts to stop a lecture were futile it seemed, for the familiar glint in his brilliant green eyes shone brightly back at him, as though the stars themselves were reflected in them. He was only slightly surprised to find himself content to hear more of Grantaire’s ramblings, that something that used to cause him such impatience and irritation could now bring him comfort and relief was a change he gladly accepted. 

“The enemy we are fighting are all of those who hold the scarcity of life in contempt, who see poor men not as equals but as scum to exploit and crush under their heel! There is no losing in this scenario for if we persevere and rise to victory, the heel would be on my boot, and all landlords would cower in fear of seeing the crushed remains of all those they destroyed, peeling themselves from the leather beneath the shoe as it rises with my step, they will instead be crushed by the bodies of those who they forced into so much unending turmoil. You yourself know the thirst for revenge is not as sweet as the moral superiority of mercy. It is the one and only case where life has granted me a win no matter which angle we see it through. For me to die again is a victory for him too, one of profit and ridding his investment of a mouthy nuisance who paid late and left paint stains on the tiles, and for once my rent is missed not due to my financial fumbles but because I died tragically young, the landlord will not dare to grieve when he can sell my worldly possessions and hike the price double for the next poor tenant to live in a dead man’s quarters. For me it is a victory because you and I have moved on already, left this time in the dust, a million miles away with the perfect secret identity that Death granted us on a whim, and I can laugh from beyond my grave at the only victory I ever had. But if we win? Oh, Enjolras, if we  _ win _ ?!”

In his enthusiasm Grantaire had suddenly clasped Enjolras’ hands in his own and squeezed them tightly, the surprise of this sudden action sent a lightning shock of something fierce to the base of Enjolras’ stomach. It was a thrilling rush, familiar, but stronger than it had ever felt before, something that made him feel trepidation and anticipation at once, and a longing for something that he still could not acknowledge.

“Can you imagine a world where we can win, and live, and live so freely that the mere worry of making rent makes us laugh in the faces of naysayers and skeptics. I would say the pure power of a victory after so many failures would force the pendulum to finally swing completely in our favour. We could laugh in the face of Gods and Death and not be struck by lightning,  _ we _ would be the new Gods - but we would be humble of course, for all men are equal even those with Godlike immortality, and we'd jump from our pedestals and replace them with soap boxes large enough for all voices. ‘ _ But dear, foolish, R _ ,’ I hear you say - and don’t try to deny it Enjolras, I saw your face beg to interrupt me when I said the word skeptic - ‘ _ Aren’t you yourself one of those naysayers _ ?’ to which I retort- I undoubtedly was once, but now you could call me a recovering cynic. So laugh in my own face if it finally pushes me away from the relapse into thinking we cannot win. It will be good practise for when we can finally laugh at Death too.”

Grantaire had kept Enjolras’ hands clasped in his, and upon looking down at them and realizing this, he let go of them as though he’d been burnt, clearing his throat and resting them carefully on his chest. 

“That’s just one way to look at it,” he trailed off.

Enjolras felt a whiplash of emotions when Grantaire withdrew his hands so suddenly. He knew that this feeling inside of him was not new, but the very thing he had been trying to ignore. He had felt it before in another time too. He thought back to the small kiss Grantaire had placed on him in another life so long ago and the new feelings he couldn’t place then that had threatened to awaken a beast inside of him. But no — he hadn’t felt the fire within him burn so strongly then, and the beast had not awakened, merely stirred from its sleep. It hit him all at once with a startling sensation that the last time he remembered was  _ not  _ the last life he had lived. 

Enjolras shifted on his side, balancing himself on his arm to look at Grantaire, who had determinedly begun looking at the stars above once more.

"It feels so strange not knowing anything about our last life," Enjolras was quiet, his voice deliberately restrained. He felt the tension in the air immediately shift as he said this.

"Well," Grantaire hesitated, he looked as though he was debating something internally. "I still have the memories..." He let the sentence linger, not offering nor denying more, but placing the onus on Enjolras instead.

“R,” He said carefully and slowly, speaking the nickname that he had never felt close enough to use before so delicately, as though he might break it if he used the wrong tone. “You said we were close friends last time, when I couldn’t remember ... ” Enjolras trailed off, watching for his reaction, but Grantaire was determinedly still, his face a blank canvas. 

“I think not having the baggage of knowing how annoying I was in the past definitely helped with that,” Grantaire deflected, his tone was playful, but his eyes had the shadows of something left unsaid. 

He smiled quickly at Enjolras, jerking his head back towards the stars the moment he seemed in danger of meeting his eyes. His knuckles were almost white with how tightly he was clasping them on his chest. The small smile stayed ghosting his face, and just like the first time he had said they were close, there was something mysterious behind it. As though he was a schoolboy hiding a secret he couldn’t share, Enjolras thought he had an idea of what it might be. Still, he was unsure and the nervous fear around the possibility of being wrong and making a fool of himself caused him to hesitate. 

But something deep within his subconscious was drawing him closer to Grantaire with each minute that passed, something that made an ugly side of hurt and longing cling agonizingly to his ribcage and urged him to continue, despite his fears of reciprocation. The intrusive wish had come to the forefront of his mind, and he could no longer push it away.

“Were we more than that?” He asked, his heart in his throat as he forced himself to not tear himself away from Grantaire’s eyes, despite the answer they might give away. 

Grantaire's shoulders tensed at the question and a panic flashed across his face. For a moment Enjolras had thought that he was so off base with his hunch that he should apologize and tell him to forget he had asked and flee into the night, but before he could, Grantaire was making a strangled noise and running a hand across his face, bringing it upwards and gripping a tuft of his dark hair as though holding onto it for dear life.

“It wasn’t like I’d planned it. It just... happened.” He still refused to look at Enjolras, and his face was contorting in guilt as though he’d been accused of doing something terrible. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I should have stopped it — but I didn’t know if you’d come back at all  _ or  _ that you’d remember again, we spent a lot of time alone there and you liked me more when you didn’t remember everything about me — or who I used to be. I was able to be a lot better in that life and-”

Enjolras moved his hand over the tightly closed fist still resting on Grantaire's chest and at the contact he stilled, leaving his explanation unfinished, swallowing hard and waiting for what would come next. Lost for the right thing to say, Enjolras instead shifted closer towards him, following his instincts instead of what his mind was telling him about restraint. He closed the space between them by pressing his lips to Grantaire’s. 

When Grantaire didn’t kiss back in an instant, his doubt won out and his inexperienced uncertainty caused him to withdraw quickly, pulling himself away, unsure if he had made the right move. 

  
But Grantaire wasn’t angry, or offended, instead he was staring up at Enjolras in tender awe. 

Moving his hand to the back of Enjolras’ head, his fingers slid through his hair as he pulled him close, sending sharp shivers down his spine and lighting his fingertips with electricity. Enjolras’ lips found his once more and Grantaire’s eagerness pushed him to retaliate with much more confidence and fervor. His mouth was warm and welcoming, and Enjolras’ hand found its way to Grantaire’s cheek, caressing it with an urgent devotion. 

Enjolras was hungry to be closer to him, to have every part of Grantaire surrounding him until their two bodies were almost one. What felt like a lifetime later, when they finally broke free of the kiss to catch their breath, Enjolras rested his forehead on Grantaire’s shoulder, the warmth surrounding him causing a haze of yearning and lust to settle in his dizzy mind. The high from his touch began to fade as he realized that this was not a fantasy or a dream, that this had really happened. 

It may not have been for Grantaire, but it was new for him, and he realized it would be wrong to have this moment without speaking it aloud into the universe and cementing it's actuality.

“I’ve known you many lifetimes, and I like you now.” He whispered softly against his ear. 

He didn't know what prompted him to say this specifically, but he felt there was an assurance he needed to bestow that physical touch couldn’t portray.

“I promised I’d always find you.” Grantaire replied breathlessly, Enjolras parted from his shoulder so that their gaze could meet again, Grantaire's eyes sparked with open veneration and desire, Enjolras wondered how he had ever lived without being seen this way by him before. 

His mind and body buzzing with a heat that felt desperate and terrifying. He pushed away all thoughts of tomorrow, all he allowed himself to know in that moment was that in Grantaire’s arms everything felt as though they may be alright. 

He kissed him once more, paying no mind to the stars above them. 

* * *

Grantaire's arm lay sprawled across Enjolras' chest and was held in place by his hand holding onto his wrist, tighter than was necessary and yet Grantaire did not voice any complaint. 

His other free hand was absentmindedly spiraling around one of Enjolras' curls, a movement so soothing that it was almost enough to make him forget the terrible sounds and memories that never left his thoughts.

They'd been silent and awake like this for at least an hour. The only communication that passed between them were reassuring touches and the occasional soft kiss placed upon a hand or a neck.

Neither had acknowledged what had transpired the night before out loud. Enjolras had no desire to analyze his thoughts and feelings, they were all so convoluted and confused that he feared it would take more time than he had here to untangle them. But the one strange thing he did think about was just how normal it had felt to slip into Grantaires arms and join him in his bed. It didn't feel like a first, and he supposed it likely wasn’t, it felt as though he had joined him a thousand times before and muscle memory had taken over him to find the small pleasures and nooks and touches that felt right. He didn't think he would ever be able to ask Grantaire about this level of intimacy from the last life. But he knew it had been there by instinct alone.

The vulnerability and fear that came with touching him in new ways disappeared quickly, and was replaced instead by a strong desire to explore every inch of him. It seemed that pushing his wants away so fiercely made them burst like a broken dam once they were spoken. Their skin met in a blaze of passion and urgency, as though each moment their lips or hands or tongues or chests did not meet each other would be their last. To feel his cheek graze against his thigh and his hands tighten around his shoulders was a rush he would surely chase again. 

Somehow what came after was even more intoxicating. Nestling into the warmth of his shoulder in a haze of comfort and bliss. To be held, and wanted, and comforted and to finally feel as though he knew him — that was the true euphoria.

When sleep had finally taken him, it didn't take long for his dreams to become horrible and nightmarish. He heard gunshots upon gunshots, cannons fired, radio static, friends faces bloodied, eyes glassy, open, and always dead. All times had blended together in his mind to create one horrible one with all the worst elements. His friends were begging for him to make it stop as they died and rose again only to die once more a second later. He was powerless in the dream, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to change anything happening around him. He could only watch, and cry.

Grantaire had woken him, shaking him out of sleep and calling out to him in panic. But it did nothing to placate the tears that were streaming down Enjolras' face or stop his body from lashing out. When he finally broke free into consciousness, he had broken down sobbing into Grantaire’s arms. 

Enjolras clung to him like an overboard sailor would clasp to broken wood. It seemed like the only thing at the time that would be able to save him from drowning.

"It's okay, Enjolras.” He soothed. “It's just a dream. You're okay."

The sound of his name from Grantaire's lips slowed his shaky breath and calmed his panicked movements. He was pulled in close to Grantaire's chest as he placed a hand on his head and slowly stroked a calm pattern, until an hour had passed and he was no longer distraught, and they'd found themselves in the place they were now. 

And though he was no longer in a panicked state of mind, he did not want to leave this warm haven of security and peace, there were two worlds in this lifetime, one in here in bliss within his arms, and one out there terrible and doomed. And as reassuring as he was, Grantaire was wrong. The dream had been their unbreakable reality for too long, the moment they left this bed that reality would no longer seem so far away.

"We have to die again, don't we?" Enjolras finally said aloud, his voice cracked and dehydrated.

Grantaire tightened his arm around him and moved a cluster of fallen hair from his face, kissing his cheek.

"I think we do," he said with resignation. "There will be a lifetime where we can stay in this bed as long as it pleases us, where we can pretend this was just a very long and strenuous memory, and keep holding each other until the pain stops coming, but I don't think this is the one."

Enjolras shifted himself so that he could face him, careful not to move his arm away from his chest, terrified of losing the contact. He had never taken much time to study his face in the other lives, despite his features changing each time. He had always just seen  _ Grantaire. _ but now he was looking at him with purpose. His facial hair was styled in a way that fit the era, and complemented some of his sharper features. His eyes, still as bright as the stars that had disappeared from the sky were watching Enjolras with the sad fondness of a person who would follow him into death, and it was in this he saw the undeniable beauty within Grantaire. A longing inside of him wished to be lost within those eyes for the remainder of his time.

"Tell me about that lifetime. Just for a minute, and then I can face this one." As Enjolras asked this, Grantaire tightened his hand around his and squeezed it with a reassuring pressure.

"We're in Paris again. I think we need to be for it to be home. But it's different —  it's better. Every day we wake up to the smell of fresh baked bread because we live above a bakery — see, that's important because we need to find the time to indulge in all the things we’ve missed here. We can be still and silent and take coffee together in the morning without thinking about a running clock or the need to move as though time isn’t on our side. In fact, we can be as slow as we please. I can hold you until I run out of words, and I think you know I have too many for that to be a short appointment. Our friends are happy too, and our evenings are filled with them. and laughter, and memories we can cherish that won’t disappear into the back of our minds until we’re old and it’s appropriate for them to be foggy and altered with rose tinted nostalgia so it seems even better than it was. We’ll fill our heads with so many good memories that there will be no more room for the ones that haunt us, they’ll be overrun with too many contented thoughts and experiences. The only worry we have for our friends would be whether they are sober enough to stumble home. Our mornings are filled with sleeping too late to watch the sunrise  —  although we will keep saying that we will wake up early to watch it one day. And maybe we will. We’ll have enough time that it won’t matter if we put it off for weeks, or months or years, or if we save it for the morning we’re finally ready for the permanence we deserve. The only anger in our life is at the petty gossip our neighbors keep, and even then it’s more amusing than harmful. There are things bigger than us that we can't control, but they're not our problem to solve anymore, because others will finally join us when we call. And then when I- " Grantaire hesitated suddenly, his words stuck in his throat as a look of insecurity gripped him.

"Go on." Enjolras said with a tight squeeze of his hand and looking at him with what he had hoped was an encouraging tenderness. It was hard to know for sure when the tears in his eyes felt so close to falling again.

Grantaire's voice dropped to a low hum, as though he was sharing a secret he only wanted Enjolras to hear.

"When I tell you that I love you, I'm not frightened it won't be returned, and you'll hear it everyday of our long and happy life."

Enjolras said nothing, but took his face in his hands and kissed him deeply before sliding his head down the pillow and against Grantaire's chest, an action he hoped was affectionate enough to not be pushed for more. 

Love was a word he didn't know if he could say in this time. The fantasy that he had spoken of were blissful things he thought he wanted but was too mentally exhausted to know for sure. He thought that maybe he did love Grantaire, or that he was close to loving him, but he knew if he said the words aloud it would make leaving the bed and facing their fate an impossible task.

"We could just run away from here," Grantaire said, his voice seeming far away and strangled. "We tried that last time."

Enjolras moved a hand to his chin, brushing a sweet stroke up his jawline, before resting it in his hair. "Did it make it hurt any less?"

"No." Grantaire was quiet for a long time. The soft pulsing of the heart in his chest against Enjolras’ ear, the rhythm was soothing, but also a bitter reminder that soon it would stop beating. "Any moment of happiness we had was tainted by guilt, until we eventually went back. But that rebellion was long and ongoing and waiting for us when we returned, going back might not be an option this time."

Enjolras nodded slowly against him, closing his eyes and keeping this moment, storing it away in a place so important that it would never be pushed out by new memories, even if they lived a thousand more lifetimes.

"This isn't something we can just abandon," Enjolras said after a long time, but his heart was not completely in his words, they felt empty on his tongue. Grantaire said nothing, he merely placed a soft kiss on his forehead and pulled away regrettably, leaving the bed. 

Enjolras returned home before meeting his friends again, not wanting to have to invent a reason for wearing the same clothes they'd seen him in the night before. Despite having the knowledge that for over twenty years in this life he'd been using a shower, a small part of him found himself staring up into the spout the water poured out of, reminded of the rain and the melancholy that often came with it. The world seemed to change too fast for parts of him to keep up. There were colourful magazines and painted advertisements in shop windows, clothes had bright patterns and a shop selling televisions boasted technological features other eras of him would not understand, but as the water ran from the faucet over his body, none of that seemed impressive, the only thing on his mind was the night before and how he wished to stay in the false sense of security that Grantaire had crafted around him.

Returning to where he was set to meet the others, Enjolras was distracted throughout the day. He found his gaze lingering to wherever Grantaire was. When he came to speak to him, Enjolras wanted nothing more than to keep him there for longer than was needed, he found himself bitter at the prospects of the night to come, wishing for more time for eventless nights and words full of promises. His mind was not invested in the happenings around him or the fight that was to come.

“So,” Joly said from behind him, startling him out of his thoughts. Enjolras turned surprised to be met with a somber expression on his face. “We suffer from the same affliction.”

“What?”

Joly’s eyes moved over to the area where Bossuet was standing by the window. They stayed there for a long while, before he swept his eyes over the rest of the crowd within the room. His expression told a story of heartbreak and regret. In this moment he appeared as though his youth had been drained from him, suddenly and unfairly. He looked as though he carried the burden of a man twice his age, the knowledge that he would be leading his friends to a fight they couldn’t win seemed to weigh heavily on Joly’s soul.

“We both fell in love at the worst possible time.”

Enjolras’ immediate instinct was to pretend he didn’t know what he was talking about, but he could tell by the way Joly’s tired eyes saw right through him that that would be a waste of both of their limited time. More importantly, it was clear that Joly needed a friend to share his pain with.

“I don’t know about calling it love…” Enjolras said honestly.

“Does it scare you?” Joly asked without judgement.

“I don’t think so,” Enjolras thought for a moment. “But it’s like you said, it’s the worst time for it. It makes it hard to know what I truly feel and what's being heightened by circumstance. It doesn’t help that I don’t have time to think about everything it would mean if I were to call it that.”

The memory of being held in Grantaire's arms after and the kind words they’d shared was something he only wanted more of. The only thing that made him wary now was what that might mean going forward. They had no permanent place to tie themselves to, no constant that they could plan for, the perfect world that Grantaire had envisioned for them seemed so far away and impossible, it made wishing for it hurt. The ache of Grantaire being within his reach but unable to live a life with him was almost as bad as if he had never acknowledged the feelings that had stirred inside of him. It barely changed anything.

“It does complicate things for tonight,” Joly admitted with a sad smile. “But it’s like someone told me last night, it doesn’t have to be here and now. It can just be with the hope of a tomorrow where it’s possible.”

“What if that tomorrow doesn’t come?” Enjolras had not meant to let his grief slip through, but his voice broke on his words.

“It might not,” Joly said with a sigh, he could tell that by the way his eyes moved longingly back to Bossuet that it was something he had been considering for a long time. “But it makes me think that’s even more of a reason to embrace and love what we have today, if there's time.”

“I’m sorry. You probably weren’t expecting to be bombarded with existential questions right on the brink of a riot.”

Joly shrugged and attempted a smile. “In some strange way I think asking them out loud makes them less scary to think about. Even if we don’t have any solid conclusions about what the hell the answers to those questions actually are, it helps.”

Someone called out Joly’s name and was waving him over for his opinion. Joly pressed a comforting squeeze to Enjolras’ shoulder before leaving him with his thoughts.

Enjolras knew it was not the right time to say the word love, and perhaps he would be ready in the next life. It might even liberate him enough to succeed finally. But here, in this world, he knew they were likely to die again, it felt too wrong to say it unless there was at least a chance at success. He did not want to say them surely unless he could be positive it would be received in a world that was ready.

And this was not that world.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the brute force and newly escalated and unrestrained tactics to silence them. Their numbers had dwindled even before the military had begun to fire their bullets and drive a wedge through the city in an organized stronghold. Enjolras had planned to stay with Grantaire until the end, but he had been separated throughout the chaos at the climax of their defeat. Retreating into the upper floor of an empty restaurant, whose patrons had fled the moment the shooting started. 

The shot that had fired through his stomach was making a large pool of blood gather all around him, it would soon seep through floorboards, and he was sure more men with guns would follow soon after. It was no matter to him though, he was already marked for death whether they arrived before or after his wound had bled out. A part of him hoped they would arrive now just to put him out of the miserable pain shuddering through his body.

Almost on queue, he heard footsteps mounting the stairs in a hurried frenzy. He closed his eyes, accepting the starlight speckled blackness that came with the action, he was beginning to grow tired of memories of staring down the barrel of a gun.

"They really did you dirty this time," a gentle hand was pressed over Enjolras', keeping the pressure on the wound and forcing him to emit a sharp and strangled sound.

Opening his eyes, Enjolras saw Grantaire before him, a red ribbon of blood streaming down from a gash in his hairline. Enjolras moved his hand to wipe the cascading trickle before it could fall into the ruffled lapel on his shirt. A vain attempt at one last kindness that would do nothing help the actual injury.

"Does it have to be so painful each time?" Enjolras asked as he moved his hand to cradle the side where his head wound looked most prominent.

"It's not as bad as yours," the tenderness of his words relieved any last ounces of fear that Enjolras had been holding onto. "Mine isn’t fatal at least, well —  for now."

Shouts of commands were heard below them, the roaring adrenaline of young men seeking the blood of an enemy they had been fed lies about was nearing closer and closer. Grantaire continued looking over to the stairway where they would soon emerge.

"There's something we still haven't tried yet," Enjolras knew the words might be pointless, but thought he needed to offer them regardless. A bubble of blood was forming in his throat, causing him to cough an ugly sound and spray speckles of red against his sleeve. "You still have time to go without being noticed and live."

"That’s not happening, Enjolras. Ever. It's like I told Death — for as long as you grant me permission to die by your side, I will continue to take that privilege." Grantaire placed a firm kiss on his forehead and the hand that was placed on Enjolras' was no longer there to stop him bleeding out, but to intertwine in comfort and peace, accepting the fate that was inevitable. 

Had his mind not been dizzied by the blood loss, Enjolras might have latched onto the true meaning behind those words.

The sound of boots hitting the bottom rung of the staircase echoed with threat throughout the broken room. Grantaire turned his body so that he too was leaning against the windowed wall, facing the men that were climbing the stairs. He gently placed his head in the cradle of Enjolras' shoulder, to which Enjolras didn't hesitate to lean his own weary head against his.

"Until next time,  _ mon ange _ ." Grantaire said quietly, barely softer than a whisper for only him and not those who pointed their guns at them to hear.

"Until next time." Enjolras whispered back, as the vociferous shots thundered from the guns aimed at them and pierced their chests in a red soaked darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways...... stream Revolution Lover by Left at London.
> 
> That was a lot, huh? I'm very excited to hear your thoughts because this chapter had A LOT. Some small notes:
> 
> -Can you tell I hate my landlord? Its been so long since I wrote a satisfying R rant. This one was sorely needed.  
> \- Yes I am implying Grantaire has an 80's stache. Don't hate, moustaches are back in according to every male friend I have's current faces (including my husbands), they are very dashing and I will not take any criticism.  
> \- If you are wondering what happened in the lifetime Enjolras forgot, have patience friends... That's all I will say :)  
> \- This particular uprising is loosely based on the Romanian Revolution of 1989, however their revolution was based on overthrowing their republic, and not a rigged election. As this is alt history though, the timeline/events were significantly altered. Their revolution was successful, and the pictures taken of their citizens are so fascinating and awe inspiring. Anyway I love history. One of my favourite parts of writing this is the research portion. 
> 
> That's all I have to say, I am eagerly awaiting your opinion, so please don't hold back. Even if you just want to yell at me. :D


	6. The Agony of Life after the Agony of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Enjolras and Grantaire have found a peaceful balance with their tragic fate, Death plays a cruel trick on them. Advice from an old friend leads Enjolras down a rabbit hole of discovery as Grantaire takes the lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in this one. My life has been haha.... Well I've been taking a lot of L's over the last few months and then I started new anxiety medication and the first week I could not function as a human being. Throughout all of that I had a few family emergencies, moved apartments and was working full time. Yeah... Was. I got laid off a few days ago cause of our old enemy covid but the good news is I now have a lot of time to write in an apartment I can't actually afford anymore. 
> 
> This year is truly shaping up to be something special, huh?
> 
> This chapter was so important to the story and so important for me to write because... Well you'll see. But this is the chapter I had in mind when coming up with the whole idea of the fic. 
> 
> Also not to dox my taste in terrible indie music but I made a playlist for this fic on spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5IhAGFWgwohwhduY3KKgvy?si=Qbo-CDNATQu_KF3eq6S1vA   
> (yes that one song that is in every exr playlist is on there)
> 
> Get ready for some twists and turns. Enjoy!!

There was a voice in the room with him when Enjolras became aware of his consciousness again, any hope that it was familiar and one that would bring comfort was quickly dashed upon hearing it's words;

“ _ Leaving 202 people dead and hundreds injured, officials say the local hospitals are overwhelmed with victims _ -”

Opening his eyes and turning over Enjolras found himself alone, the television across from him was boasting images of fire and distress, cascading dull light into the dark and disordered room he had awoken in. He wasn’t in a bed, but instead splayed half hanging off of a couch and the unfamiliar clutter around him brought him no relief. The newscaster moved onto another tragedy, and he found no urgency to move from where he lay. If he stayed here forever or rushed out into action he was convinced the result would be the same, and his actions would be meaningless. He allowed the moving images to wash over him in a numb misery, convinced now that suffering and tragedy were the only guaranteed constant in the passage of time. Nothing had changed and nothing would change — only the way in which humanity performed their atrocities and corruption differed from era to era. 

He was past feeling hopeless, its agony and torment had run through his veins and mind until he was exhausted, now all he could feel was a bleak indifference. It all mattered so little, to think there was a part of himself that had begged to fix it and had believed change was possible was almost laughable to him now. When he was tired of having this confirmed by the seemingly never ending news report, he rose slowly, running his hands across his face and walking aimlessly around his new lodging.

A calendar on his refrigerator told him it was October 2002, and that he was late for something written in red marker: 

_ Flowers at  _ _ L’ARCANGELO _ _ 6PM _ . 

The same event had been written in his calendar for the next four days, followed by a crudely drawn rose in a red circle five days away providing him with no other details. He was sure if he searched within himself he could find them, but Enjolras only had the energy to be relieved he hadn’t had another huge gap in time to comprehend, one another that Grantaire had to suffer through alone. 

At least he could be sure he would find Grantaire here too, his eyes had moved away from the calendar and onto the photographs pinned in place by a magnet. His friends and their faces staring back at him, stuck in frozen happy moments that would soon be forgotten by history and time. In one of them, his arms was slung over Courfeyrac and Combeferre's shoulders, a smile he could no longer replicate was brightly adorning the face he’d fallen into, there were big group photos and smaller more unflattering candid ones all staring back at him with hope and happiness, but the one that drew the most attention to him was one where he was sitting next to Grantaire —  whose face he instantly knew . He was looking forward with shining eyes and a half smile, mouth parted slightly  — caught between a candid moment and noticing the camera  —  but it was his own expression that he had noticed, he wasn’t looking ahead, his attention was completely caught by Grantaire, wrapped in whatever words he had been speaking before the snapshot interrupted them. 

Touching the photograph gingerly and resting his head on the cool exterior of the freezer door, he wondered if there’d ever be a world where he could merely remain within those moments, carefree and happy, surrounded by his friends without the threat of death looming over his head. His thoughts circled back and clutched onto Grantaire’s surprising monologue containing optimism for their future from the last life and decided although he may not be able to move forward of his own volition, if he could see the way Grantaire’s eyes lit up when talking about the possibilities of the future once more, he could continue to do it for him.

The body he had woken into had fallen asleep in his day wear, and Enjolras needed only to find a coat before heading out into the street. Busy with nightlife and crowded pathways he wondered how many of the faces he passed would turn a blind eye to his next fight and subsequent death.

"Well done," Jehan said with a cheery wink when he entered the room on the upper floor. He was braiding a chain of daisies as several large bouquets of flowers sat in front of him. "Almost three hours late. I think that's a new record, even for us!"

"I overslept," Enjolras said apologetically, returning his smile.

"It’s nine!” Jehan laughed, “If you want to make it up to me you can sit here and help," he moved the empty seat beside him out from under the table and gave it a quick pat.

"In a second," Enjolras replied as he looked around the room, surprised to find the table Jehan was sitting to be just the start of the flora infestation that had taken over the building. 

Each area was working with them in different ways, tying them in chains, creating wreaths, affixing them to pins and craft clips as they joked and talked amongst each other. Scanning his eyes over each surface for the treasure amongst the roses. That's when he saw him. In the center table surrounded by a sea of red, his attention held vy Bahorel as he laughed at something Enjolras couldn’t hear. The street lights from the windowsill behind where Grantaire sat was catching at the ends of his curls. Enjolras smiled to himself, enraptured by the infatuation that was caught between his chest. 

"I just need to do something first."

"Go on," Jehan teased as he looked towards where Enjolras was staring, his tone playful and knowing. "Grovel to our fearless leader before he kicks you out for good this time."

Leader? Enjolras' smile faltered, taken back by this revelation. 

_ That _ was new, and not something he would have ever expected just mere lifetimes ago. But on second thought he supposed Grantaire had been more actively involved the longer they’d been going through this, it seemed as though his friends were all being cycled through that role at some point. It only made sense that eventually he’d be reborn as the one in charge, and it certainly wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to them. He would take this over another lifetime of memories skipped any day, and made his way towards where Grantaire sat taking the seat beside him. 

“You’re late.” Grantaire said without looking up from the papers in front of him. 

“I can’t control when I wake up you know.”

“Well maybe you need to invest in an alarm,” Grantaire replied, regaling him with a smirk. “I hear they even have them on phones now.”

“Do they really?” Enjolras asked with a curious smile. 

“God, here we go.” Bahorel said, chuckling as he rolled his eyes he gave Enjolras a friendly squeeze on his shoulder and crossing the room, leaving them alone to their conversation, which Enjolras could not have been more grateful for. 

“I could have been here earlier, but I got caught up watching the news.”

“Anything good?”

“No,” Enjolras sighed wearily. “All of it was the expected disheartening misery.”

“Mmhmm, that’s the news for you,” Grantaire said absentmindedly, his hands still busying away beneath him, Enjolras was so glad to be in his company he had to stop himself from reaching over and taking them in his. “As long as there’s no mention of us before the 25th it's good news for us. The last thing we need is to be suppressed before we can actually make real change."

“Hm,” Enjolras made a noncommittal noise in response, a part of him wanted to express how that might not be the worst thing in the world, but seeing how determined Grantaire looked as he worked made him bite his tongue. "So, what are we up to now?" 

" _ I'm _ writing letters of demand, you should be helping the others with the flowers. Or you could just sit here and distract me," Grantaire replied pointedly, he gave Enjolras a fleeting smile as he flickered his eyes in his direction. "Up to you."

Enjolras returned it fondly, he had meant more in terms of a general cause, but he let the misunderstanding slide knowing he could answer his own question if he concentrated, and looked down towards the bunches of roses below him. 

The flowers were a tactic they were using for a planned protest, one that they were hoping would be incredibly symbolic and attention catching. He was a little surprised by the knowledge that they once again found themselves in a battle without weapons and sighed heavily, accepting the eventual failure already. He lifted one of the roses from the table and studied it, tapping his finger to one of the thorns impatiently.

"They came in this morning,” Grantaire explained, noticing his look. “Late like a certain somebody. We don't have much time to put them together. Miss De Simone said we could use her chest freezer if they begin to wilt."

"Another peaceful venture," Enjolras said bitterly, dropping the rose back onto the table with a frown. 

Grantaire gave him a wary look before emitting an overly dramatic sigh. 

"We’re doing this again?"

"I suppose.  _ Avoid the guns and we’ll best Death at every corner, _ right?” Enjolras recited, calling back to the last time they had foolishly believed they could beat their fate peacefully. 

  
  


"That's the spirit!" Grantaire's eyes shone at him as he grinned wide, placing a hand on his wrist and squeezing it excitedly.

Before Enjolras had a chance to move his hand over his to clasp it Grantaire had removed it again, moving his gaze back to the paper before him and re-reading the contents with a furrowed brow. "Were you planning on helping at all today Angelo, or did you just come late to debate peace with me again?"

"Actually I was thinking we could-" Enjolras stopped suddenly. 

A daunting dread incapacitated him as the name he had said hit him suddenly. Grantaire had never called him by any other name but his own in their new lives. There was nobody in close proximity around them that could have overheard their conversation, not when the room was so excited and boisterous. Enjolras watched him with a wide eyed denial, searching for something  —  anything that was familiar and affectionate, but Grantaire’s eyes had no time for him, and not once since he'd arrived had he looked to Enjolras with the familiar fondness he had given him in the last life. 

_ No _ .

"You don't remember, do you?" Enjolras' voice was hollow as he felt a deafening numbness encapsulate his body.

"What? Our argument last night?" Grantaire didn’t bother looking towards him and didn’t notice the change in his expression, as he bit out a short laugh and began writing on a new piece of paper. "Of course I do. You called me an ingrate of all things. Who even uses a word like that? I had to find a dictionary to look it up after you left. Props to you though, it did actually work in context. But just so you know I also looked up some new-fancy-old words, so if you do want to fight me about it again I've come prepared" 

Each word he said confirmed his fear and hit him like a brick, devastation rocked his entire body as he tried to come to terms with this reality. Grantaire seemed to be surprised by the expression he was greeted with when he finally looked back to him, his challenging smile dropping instantly as concern took over his features.

"What's wrong?" 

A lump was rising to Enjolras' throat as his world came crashing down around him. To have Grantaire forget  — that alone he might have lived with  — but to hear that their relationship was so much different to the warm and intimate one they had built was too much for him to comprehend. He could not exchange their closeness with combativeness overnight and be expected to accept it, not after all they had gone through together. 

"You hate me?" Enjolras asked in a strangled tone, unable to keep the irrational fear that was speeding through his mind unsaid.

"What?" Grantaire was taken aback by this, the concern on his face growing deeper. "Of course I don't. Where did you get that from?"

Enjolras shook his head, trying desperately to stop the heat rising in his throat and blinking rapidly to curb the tears threatening to form in his eyes. 

“Why did I call you that?” He realized this was absurd, he realized Grantaire would have no context to why this was upsetting, he knew deep down that this reaction was not expected, but he couldn’t help but voice aloud the questions that came so sharply into his mind. It didn’t matter what was happening around him, the dreaded moment he had been fearing where Grantaire would finally grow to resent him for all of his failures - even subconsciously - had finally come to a head, and with it everything he knew about Enjolras was lost with it, there was nothing he could do to bring him back.

“I-I don’t know,” Grantaire said, he was looking over Enjolras’ head, a desperate plea written on his face as he wordlessly mouthed something to somebody behind Enjolras. "It’s fun? It’s what we do?” His voice suddenly became anxious. “Angelo, did I say something?”

“No,” Enjolras said quickly, suddenly feeling extremely exposed, he needed to leave. The air around him was suffocating, the conflicting scents of different types of flowers making his head spin and his airways constrict. 

“Just forget it.” He managed to say as he left the table, aware that Grantaire wasn’t the only one in the room staring dumbfounded at him as he went. 

He walked briskly down the street until he reached the end of it, taking in shaky breaths of air as though the oxygen around him would run out at any moment. He steadied his back on the wall of the closed butchers shop, staring up at the stars in the night sky as a vain attempt to get his bearings. He looked at the unfamiliar streets around him and felt a panic grip him when he spotted the raven that was perched upon the streetlight, it's head tilted in a question that Enjolras couldn't understand, his body became still, calmed by the anger that suddenly pulsed through his body.

"Are you happy mocking me?" Enjolras asked it with venom, crossing his arms as he leant his back against the wall.

"Resorting to picking fights with birds now?" Enjolras turned his head towards the voice. 

Grantaire was walking slowly towards him with his hands deep within his pockets, a hesitation braced his face when he met his gaze, causing Enjolras to look away from him again, unbearably aware of his heart pounding loudly in his chest and the heat in his cheeks. He waited for Grantaire to reach him and stood awkwardly in silence for a moment before he spoke his words carefully. "You want to tell me what exactly happened back there, or at least, why you hate birds so much?"

"I have a grudge with this  _ thing _ that goes long back," Enjolras said, lifting his head back towards the bird and glaring, he knew he sounded ridiculous but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Thankfully, Grantaire broke the tension in the air with a small laugh, taking his answer as though it were a joke and joining him by leaning up against the wall, balancing himself by placing his right foot against the brick. His hands still stubbornly within his pockets. 

"Well maybe offer to bury the hatchet as a favour to me. We don't need any omens of death haunting us."

_ They’re already here. _ Enjolras thought sadly, outwardly he sighed. "You really think you can stop armed guards with only roses?"

"Always going back to this. Is that why you’re upset?" Grantaire smiled affectionately, shaking his head. "You know I'm just plagiarizing something that’s already worked? Thirty years ago in Portugal they were able to overthrow their dictatorship with only carnations and words as their weapons. The people hired to stop us aren’t our enemies, they've just been fed so much propaganda their whole lives they don’t question it when they’re told more  — and I don’t want to shoot people just because they haven’t seen the light. If they can see us taking a stand and begin to see themselves as independent human beings who can join us, then we’ve succeeded. It might take a few years, but it’s a start."

"Still, it might be nice to have a gun if seeing flowers somehow doesn't make them drop theirs," Enjolras countered.

"I don’t want to shoot anybody, Angelo, whether they want to shoot me or not," Grantaire looked him over carefully, the concern that had been there before replaced with a bittersweet smile. "I'll miss these debates when you've finally been proven wrong in a few days time. Although I'm sure we'll find something else to disagree on," His eyes shined as he shifted against the wall to face him, and Enjolras felt an ache within him clutch at his chest. "Is that why you're in such a weird mood today, you're going to miss me verbally besting you? We can turn it into a hobby if it means so much to you."

Grantaire could have no idea how his easy words were affecting Enjolras, how his teasing tone pained every inch of him when he knew he couldn't return them with the closeness he desired to give him. When Enjolras could not bear to bring himself to say anything in return, Grantaire dropped his smile and turned his gaze to the ground.

"I'm really trying here, Ang. Did I do something to you or something? Why do you keep looking at me like I've kicked a puppy?"

"You haven't done anything," Enjolras said with a sigh.  _ Neither have I, neither has anyone. It's all out of our control. _ Enjolras looked up towards the stars they had once shared together, the quiet between them gave him pause to think of a way to tell him how he felt that would not sound as though he belonged in a madhouse. 

“I’m upset because you're going to die,” Enjolras said finally, his words blunt and empty. “And it’s going to be for something that will never live to see the fruition that you hope for it. You can plan and hope and believe in it for hundreds of years, but the world will never be ready for it. There will never be a new world that dawns from our sacrifice fighting for it. Nothing will ever change, the world doesn’t want to see the light you’ve brought into it, you’ll just die, and the sun will rise and fall again and forget you until people like you are ready to die again for the same good reasons and the same lost fight, and there's nothing I can do about any of it."

Grantaire looked affronted by these words, he looked away from Enjolras and watched the ground as the foot he had against the wall moved back down, swiping back and forth, kicking the rocks beneath the gravel at his feet. 

"We all die someday," He said quietly. "It may as well be for something you believe in than nothing at all." 

If Enjolras wasn't so utterly wrecked by his situation he could have laughed at hearing Grantaire of all people say that to him, it was not lost on him that not too long ago he would have fallen into the role that Grantaire was given in this life. Now that possibility seemed as far away from him as succeeding. He had grown apart from his passions and it seemed his punishment for doing so was to be ripped apart from Grantaire too. 

“The problem isn’t you dying for something you believe in, it’s the fact that not enough people are willing to do the same,” Enjolras said with one last plea in his voice, he reached out to grab his wrist, but Grantaire turned and lifted himself away from the wall instead and began to walk back to  L’Arcangelo without looking back towards Enjolras _. _

“I can’t back down from this, not even for you. I'll see you tomorrow, I hope," he said with a guarded voice as he walked away.

It wasn't that Grantaire hated him in this life, he had simply outgrown any need for him, and with that his need to remember Enjolras was lost too. Somehow that was worse than hate. He felt his heart sink in his chest, the agony within him growing stronger by the moment. Of all the worlds he’d live in he couldn't stand this one the most, the loneliness of facing certain death when only he had the knowledge of what was coming, his name lost to a time where no one would utter it, his doubts dismissed without a second thought. He was in a cold and lonely world where his only confidant no longer had any time or need for him and the hopelessness around him seemed to swallow him whole.

He watched Grantaire's back disappear into the building and turned furiously towards the raven perched on the streetlight, his misery turning into bile rising in his throat as a righteous fury rushed through his veins. Snatching the pebbles that were beneath him, Enjolras hurled them hard towards the bird in an enraged frenzy, growing more and more furious as they failed to make contact and the raven seemed to mock him by merely watching him without flinching, unbothered by the rocks that narrowly missed its head.

"Angelo!" The shocked voice pulled him out of his irrational anger, as he looked over to see a mortified Jehan, staring at him disappointedly. "What on earth are you doing to that poor bird?"

At the sound of his friend sounding so horrified at his actions, something broke inside Enjolras. Collapsing in on himself like a dying star, he crumpled, falling to his knees and sobbing, a terrible heat rushing to his neck as his breath became tight in his throat. Jehan was saying something against his ear, but the words sounded muffled and distorted.

He felt warm hands tighten around him, and without objection rose when he was prompted to. They had walked three blocks before Enjolras even knew his feet were moving under him. By the time he was inside of Jehan’s cramped apartment, with a crocheted blanket around his shoulders and a hot mug in his hands, he had calmed down enough to feel ashamed and exhausted. He placed the cup down on the small coffee table in front of him and pressed his face hard into his hands until his eyes saw only small, white stars.

“It’s okay,” Jehan said sympathetically, he had sat down on the couch across from him, his room was so tiny that it took up half of the room. “We’ve all had our bad nights. Just don’t take it out on living things next time, okay?”

“It’s not a bad night,” Enjolras said with a cracked voice, his words muffled between his hands. “I’m trapped in hell, and that  _ thing  _ was not living, it was death incarnate.”

When he finally moved his head upwards, Jehan was not looking to him with judgement or confusion, but with a kindness that was unparalleled. He did not question Enjolras’ breakdown nor did he chastise him for his attitude towards the raven. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” was all he said.

Enjolras looked down to the tea in his cup, his mind had stopped racing, leaving only a numb regret and sadness and shook his head.

“I don’t know where I’d start. I don’t think I’ve ever really even wrapped my own head around it,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t even know who I am anymore”

“Well I know you pretty well,” Jehan assured him. “Let me help.”

“You don’t,” Enjolras said gravely. “That person you knew wasn’t me.”

“Okay...” Jehan drew out the word slowly, bringing his legs up to the couch and folding them. “Explain that to me.”

“It doesn’t matter. Forget it. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.”

Jehan extended a gracious smile to him and took a sip of tea. “Try me.”

Enjolras considered him carefully. Grantaire had been firmly against telling anybody about their situation in a past life and for arguably good reason. Although he could never imagine Jehan being so cruel as to have him hauled away for strange concepts alone, the fear of ostracization was still something that gripped at his heart. It was hard enough losing one friend, but if he were to lose the rest of them too he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. He sighed finally, running a tired hand through his hair  — a habit he suddenly realized with an ache he had picked up from Grantaire, he let his hand fall behind him and rested it on the nape of his neck. 

Grantaire wasn’t here, and he needed someone. Jehan was still looking to him patiently when he raised his head to meet his eyes and clenched his fists, readying himself to push forward, and expecting the worst to come from it. 

“This morning I woke up in this body, with this life, and the day before that I wasn’t here. I was in another decade, in another country, fighting for another cause. Four days before that it was the same. I’ve been dying and waking up in different bodies days before I’m doomed to die again for almost two centuries now.”

He waited for Jehan to laugh him out of his apartment, or to look at him as though he was mad, or even worse, look at him with pity, but instead he merely took another sip of his tea and nodded for him to continue as though it was the most commonplace problem in the world. Enjolras had never been more grateful to have someone so strangely accepting follow him throughout his lives.

He continued to explain the entire concept. Struggling to put into words how he theorized it all worked and the places they had gone to, how for decades Grantaire and him had been dying 'and coming back and most importantly failing every time. How they were friends in Paris originally and they had all followed him throughout their lives too, but how nobody remembered this except for Grantaire and himself until now. By the time he was finished he felt drained and thirsty, and emptied the now cold tea in front of him. 

“This must be so hard for you,” Jehan said finally after the silence settled around them. “Have you ever tried not doing anything? It seems as though you’re at your limit, you could just walk away if it’s too much for you to bear. Nobody would think any less of you. We know what the risks we’re taking are, and you do all too well too. The others don’t have to know to understand.”

Somehow the thought of walking away was so much worse than continually facing his fate, he wouldn’t just be leaving them behind, they would be leaving him to survive alone in a cold and unfamiliar world. At this realization he felt as though he might cry again and swallowed hard, shaking his head.

“I can’t leave you all behind, I can’t walk away without any of you, I especially can’t without him." Enjolras' voice broke at this and he placed his head in his hands. "Not after all the times he never left my side.”

“I know. But if you’re sure you know that this time won’t turn out different ... ” Jehan trailed off, leaving another bout of silence and Enjolras' thoughts began to race again.

“There has to be a way to make everybody see,” he knew he sounded desperate, but he had gone past the point of caring how he was perceived. Jehan had had every chance to judge him so far, what was one more opportunity. “There has to be something I can do to stop the cycle, to stop you all from dying again.You believe me don’t know? If everybody else listened maybe we could—”

At the sympathetic look Jehan gave him, Enjolras stopped mid sentence, for a moment, he felt as though he was being pitied. But then Jehan spoke, and his voice was as careful as it was warm.

“When we did this the first time in Paris, is there anything anybody could have said to you that could have convinced you to stop?”

Enjolras stilled, a million answers and arguments sprang to his mind in defiance, but all of them disappeared as quickly as they transpired. Jehan’s words felt like a slap to the face as he realized the prison he was in was one he’d built around himself.

“No,” Enjolras replied resignedly. They fell into silence once more as his reality washed over him.

“Hmm,” Jehan tapped the side of his mug with his fingernail. 

“What?”

“Oh, nothing important. Just  — Paris, In that era… I’ve always been strangely drawn to it,” Jehan looked nostalgic for a time he’d never lived in and a small smile ghosted his face. “You know all my life I’ve known the body you’re sitting in. It’s strange to think your soul is not that person I knew yesterday, but it makes sense that someone like you would fall into his life. You’re very similar, in a bizarre way.”

Enjolras blinked. “You're not just humouring me are you. You really believe me?” 

Jehan shrugged and hummed a noncommittal sound. “It's not the strangest thing I've heard today."

Enjolras breathed a hysterical puff of air, it was the closest thing to laughter he could produce. His shoulders dropped an invisible weight as he did so, and he felt himself relax for the first time in what felt like centuries.

"You know there's a quote from one of my favourites that I always find comforting in times of existentialism,” Jehan mused curling a finger around a hole in the sleeve of his sweater. “It goes: ‘We can't do much about the length of our lives, but we can do plenty about it's width and depth.’"

Enjolras stared blankly back at him. “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

Jehan moved one of his legs back down to the floor as he pulled his other one closer in towards him, his lips pursed thinly as he hummed for a moment in thought.

“It’s different for everyone, but to me it means we have to let go of the things we can’t control and embrace the things we can, the ones that really matter. It means that it doesn’t matter how long we are in the world  — or in your case, in many worlds  — as long as the impact we have is felt by those around us.”

“My impact?” a sad and desperate laugh finally burst from Enjolras’ throat at this. “I keep failing!”

“No, you keep  _ dying _ ,” Jehan said pointedly, as though there was a difference. “It doesn’t mean you didn’t change anything. Have you ever looked up what happened after you left those lives?”

Enjolras continued to stare dumbfounded at him, the thought had never occurred to him. The only times he’d ever looked back on his past lives were in his own mind to scrutinize his actions. As though he could read his mind, Jehan smiled sympathetically and pressed a comforting hand to Enjolras'.

"That's the problem with being ahead of your time, you're usually not around to get the validation when the generations after you finally agree. Maybe you aren't being punished, maybe the world is just catching up with you."

Enjolras didn’t know if he believed the words Jehan had said to him, but as he left his apartment he felt something familiar settle in his soul as he thought back on them. 

His body was drained, his mind exhausted, a longing to be comforted by crawling into Grantaire’s arms and clinging tightly to him was gnawing away at his broken heart. He was sure he loved him now, because the hurt of no longer having him was tearing his soul into pieces with each second that was spent apart from him. That knowledge of simultaneous love and loss was a hard pill to swallow, and he yearned to go back to that night under the stars, to seize the words despite their timing being wrong and to say them with finality. 

Sleep would be a rare relief, and he doubted his night would bring him peace. He was expecting many terrible visions of death and despair when it finally took him. But instead his visions were plagued with pleasant thoughts of Grantaire, of his hands, his eyes, his lips and all of him he couldn’t have. When he woke alone there was a hole within his chest that hurt him more than any bullet ever could.

* * *

Enjolras walked the streets that morning in a numb stupor. Wracked with uncertainty and conflicting feelings. Jehan’s words still echoed in his mind, and although the likelihood of any type of past success felt impossible to him, he couldn’t shake the curiosity that this theory had awoken within him. It followed him in his steps as he walked towards their meeting place. 

As he rounded the corner of the street where the L’arcangelo was, Enjolras stopped in his tracks. Whatever the answer was — failure or hope— he couldn’t keep going on like this. He would not be of any help to anyone guideless and demoralized, and whether in the details of his past mistakes lay more misery and helplessness or had a lasting impact that rippled through time, he needed to know how history viewed his actions. If for no other reason than to learn from it.

Turning on his heel Enjolras changed direction, no longer aimless he had a destination in mind and his steps became more purposeful as he picked up speed. Having a goal that he could actually achieve was somewhat liberating. It felt good to know there were still things he could aim for that could be accomplished, even if they were small and unimportant in the greater scheme of life.

The library he found was quite large, and though a good majority of books on the shelves were blatant propaganda boasting stories of success of their regime there was a small section dedicated to history outside of their country. 

At first it seemed as though his plan was ill thought out, afterall if his actions had no impact why would they be amongst history? 

Dozens of books lay around him as he scoured desperately through them for any trace of his memories from an outside perspective. The librarian casted him a sympathetic look as she passed, mistaking his stressed darting eyes and furrowed brow as one she’d seen a million times over from overworked students cramming for deadlines. When Enjolras met her eyes an idea came to him that had seemed so simple and foolish he almost instantly pushed it away, but looking back down at his discarded pile, he abandoned whatever pride was left within him and decided to ask for help.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” 

“I’m looking for a specific period of history, do you have anything on the French revolution?”

The librarian gave him an amused look. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific. Which period of French revolution?”

A pride he hadn’t felt in a long time swelled within his chest upon hearing this. “1832?”

“Hm,” she tapped her pen against her lip. “I’m not sure about that one. Could you mean 1848?”

“No,” Enjolras replied, deflating slightly, and then an idea came to him. “Actually, could I have that? It might help with something else.”

“Here,” She placed several large books on the table in front of him after scanning the shelves. “I’ll look through our card catalogue and see if I can find the other era.”

Enjolras read about France’s monarchy as though he was reading a novel at its literary climax, he was engrossed with the details of events, of the rise and fall of movements and monarchs and of the democracy it eventually led to. His heart swelled to know although his was not successful, ones that came later were.

When a voice spoke to him he jumped slightly, so engrossed in the words that he had forgotten all of his surroundings. 

“If you need a primary source to reference, this might not work, but there is a biography with a chapter containing a secondhand account. You’ll have to check the index for the event in question.”

Enjolras turned the old thin book over in his hands. It was published by a name he didn’t recognize, and the title -  _ A Father to the Fatherless _ \- had no reference or hint to any kind of revolution. Opening the cover the book seemed to be a third addition of the semi-autobiographical musings of a woman's life in France, her relationship to her Father, and the secrets he kept from her. He had no clue how this woman could possibly be interwoven into his life, until he scanned the index and his eyes landed on a familiar name.

_ XI - My Father’s Handkerchief and Marius _

Enjolras' heart pounded rapidly in his chest as he turned the pages to the mention of Marius' name.

_ Marius was gravely injured from his time on the June barricades of 1832. An event that had a great impact on our lives. His body and heart were shattered, the grief he carried was a heavy burden. It is a ridiculous notion; but I often wonder if surviving on one's own is a worse fate than dying at times. Certain parts of youth will never return to you when you pass the ages your friends will never see. His mystery saviour was a topic we often wondered about - by this point I am sure the reader will guess the identity of the man who saved my husband, but the details of this escape will be made clear at a later time. For now, Marius was hurt and tired with melancholy, but also recovering to my great relief and delight. It took decades to get him to talk in detail of this horror in detail, but my love for Marius and his bravery has never been more unwavering than when his story was shared.  _

She never went on to detail the events of the barricade, she focused mainly on her father’s relationship with her husband and how they had come to escape, but there were small things here and there that stood out to Enjolras.

_ We came to refer to our home as a republic, no titles were used in our household to honour his friends' sacrifice. _

_ Of course Marius was never the same with the grief he suffered. But when people mention grief they never mention the other side of it. There was a change within Marius for that was not tragic, it was loyal and determined and fiercely protective. It came out in the wrong ways sometimes, as is detailed later with my father, but it came from a place of love. _

_ By the time the revolution of 1848 came around, it was as though Marius was a young man again, he echoed the voices of his fallen friends and loudly supported their efforts. Our son would listen in awe to him talk of them as though they were heroes. When he became a man and told us his grand plans to change the world, I could hardly be surprised. He had my fathers and my husband's spirit within him. A dangerous combination - Kind and loyal and willing to fight for all men, and a foolish lovelorn heart. _

Enjolras was smiling despite himself, if nothing else changed as a result of his actions, at least there was a change in Marius. Despite the details of the June rebellion only lasting a chapter, Enjolras found himself reading on. Marius’ wife seemed charming by the way she wrote, and her clear love for Marius was heartwarming, and reading of the great things their children accomplished made his heart soar. He was glad to learn of his friend’s fate and happiness and that he had lived a long life.    
  


From there, his journey for information became easier. The simplest to find was in a history book, where he was surprised and invigorated to learn that the first revolution he participated in were successful - despite their deaths. It led to the deposition of the Queen and led to a brief era of democracy, the next one was harder to find, hiding away in a small section of a very large book. Though their efforts had been crushed by the government, he was happy to see it mentioned alongside the successful uprising that occurred almost fifty years after. He found mention of the events in England in a very stale and factual listing of union movement changes;

_ The London massacre - following the assassination of a group of union labourers, mass outcry and protested were organized by factory workers in London. While the intention of the violence was theorized to be a shock tactic to scare unions away from protesting, the massacre had the opposite effect on the union movement. A common protest chant “YOU CAN’T SHOOT US ALL” was adopted by the movement, and the unprovoked violence against them gained sympathy amongst the working class. Figure II.5 Two labourers stand outside of the factory gates, a sandwich board beside them reads “WHO WILL RUN YOUR FACTORIES WHEN ALL YOUR WORKERS ARE DEAD”. They were soon joined by other sympathetic unions outside of the factory workers who would refuse to deliver supplies or complete maintenance work until demands were met. After a month of strikes and demonstrations, a negotiation was successfully negotiated amicably. Some stipulations from this agreement are still in effect today. [See: Chapter 15 - list of agreements and amendments for reference.] _

The more recent Romanian revolution was briefly outlined in a biased outlook in the various propaganda books on the shelf. A small amount of hope came to him when he realized that if they were altering history to suit their narrative, they were scared of what they might inspire if they printed the truth. He found himself covering his mouth to stop from laughing at the overly spinned descriptions used for them as rowdy delinquents and criminals. 

But the hardest to find was the account from the war. As the hours passed, Enjolras worried that there was no mention of what had happened because there were no survivors. He felt his heart drop as he poured over book after book and found no mention of the freeing of prisoners. Perhaps their plan had backfired, and the people they had helped escape were caught again or killed? Maybe their operation had been so small that it had never been known, and anybody who had made it out had then lived a life in hiding, never mentioning their escape in fear of being taken again. 

It was when he saw that night was setting, and the pile of books on his table had grown so high he was getting looks from other patrons that he sought out help again.The librarian found it amusing that somebody his age had to be shown how to use a computer, but was patient enough to explain how to search for something with it.

The whole idea was overwhelming to him, that he could ask a question and have a screen emit an answer in mere minutes, and as he slowly typed in the keywords as he had been instructed to do and sat and waited for the page to load, he wondered what limit there was to the progress of humanity. He had felt a similar way in London, in seeing all of the new ideas and technology he had never thought he’d comprehend before, and a flicker of hope sparked briefly inside of him.

His heart stopped in his chest as he found a web journal with an interview that included a small excerpt from a book that was released a decade ago, and he had to remind himself to breathe as he read it.

_ Throughout the entirety of it all, my father never lost hope. My own view of our situation was cynical at best - doomful at worst. I saw him pray nightly to a God that never answered and I grew to curse the same God he had so much faith in. I would ask myself how he could allow such terrible things to occur, how he could sit and watch as good people suffered, and there seemed to be nothing but success and victory for those who were cruel and evil. Nobody reaped what they sewed. Good deeds or intentions did not grant us any sanctuary from pain. History continued to be a terrible cycle and my anger at the injustice of my fate turned to numbness and acceptance, but my father still prayed each night for salvation.  _

_ One night they took him from me, and I never saw him again. I knew he was dead in my heart, but we were never granted a goodbye, and I was no longer a human being. I was a shell of grief and inhumane circumstance- just waiting to be next. Then someone finally answered my father’s prayers. There was a large and terrible noise outside of our enclosure, an explosion that shook the ground and made us clasp at each other in panic.  _

_ We all waited for the terrible thing to come, for none of us could have thought that what would come next would be a saviour, we all expected the noise to be the beginning of our final end. But then a voice rang out from behind the door, and shouted for us to stand as far back as we could. We scrambled backwards, huddled together, terrified of what would come. A second later the door blew down and the walls around us shook violently. Sometimes I can still hear the ringing in my ears that echo that doorway opening. It both reminds me of great sadness and great freedom. _

_ There was a man waiting for us outside of the door. He was young and in no uniform, it was clear the moment he emerged that time was of the essence. He told us in a hurry to climb down a great hole in the ground. For someone who had not eaten in days and was weakened by the continuous labour they forced on us, I suddenly had the strength of a lion. As I prepared to scale the rope I watched him run in the direction of where the soldiers were housed, I wanted to yell out to him, to warn him he was running into death, but then I saw his face, and it was one that was all too familiar to me. I had seen it on everyone around me for weeks now. I had known it within myself. When someone has already accepted their fate you can see their eyes change. He knew he was running to his death and he had accepted that to save us. Coming downwards we found ourselves in the tunnels of an old railway and I remember shivering, and suddenly becoming very aware I was human again as the goosebumps prickled my skin. I felt the cold ground beneath me on my bare feet, it awakened my senses and my soul. Another man was waiting for us beneath the barracks. He was also young, much too young to be caught up in such a horrible fate- but then again that was true of all of us. I’ll never forget his eyes as he told us to run. He didn’t seem like he belonged with us in this world, as though he was a visitor who had seen more than I could comprehend. I remember thinking, is this the God my father was praying to? _

_ Each step we ran felt as though it might be our last, and then we heard shouts behind us, I turned my head expecting to see a gun but there was nobody following. I realized moments later that the young man had led them on a chase through the other tunnel when a horrendous explosion sounded. The walls around us shook, and a few around me fell to their feet. We helped each other up and continued to run. Nobody was left behind, even in the chaos of it all. _

_ When we came to an impasse that led us above ground, it was morning again, and we had not been followed. I saw the sun rising in the sky and thought that this was the light of freedom on my horizon.  _

_ Even now, I have never learned their names or why they had chosen to give their lives to save us, I know there were others that died there that also came to help us. But they were not soldiers, and though my son will roll his eyes whenever I say this and my husband will try to explain it away with logic, I know that my father had not given up hope for a reason, because God had answered, and he sent us guardian angels in the form of men.  _

Enjolras wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and took a deep and shaky breath, he felt the change rise within him. Although he had briefly lost his way, he felt it again finally; the stirring inside him, the hopefulness, the optimism, the determination that the new day would bring. He hadn’t lost his fire, not completely, it had just dwindled slightly, all he needed to get it roaring once more was some kindling. That thought amongst all the doubt and pain circling his thoughts was comforting. He left the building with a newfound energy as though born into the world fresh and new, and thanked the librarian for something she didn’t know she had helped him with.

He didn’t sleep that night, for once not due to his mind agonizing, but because it was buzzing with excitement. He spent the night walking the streets of Florence with a buzz in his step and watching the people as they passed by him. He watched the stars from his rooftop, and though he was alone and cold he was no longer lonely, and the experience brought back memories of touches and words he no longer had, he let himself fall in love with the idea of hope once more. 

Because love was already there within his heart, and once he had allowed it to open for another, it was so easy to let it burn and shine brightly into every other facet of his needs and wants and desires. It would not fade from him again, this fact he was convinced of. Even if his love was never returned or remembered by Grantaire or by the world he fought for, this passion inside of him was not something that god or death or time could ever take away from him. He was resolute in its necessity to lead him forward. 

His perspective shifted when thinking of Death and the journey onwards. This was not a curse, this was a gift he had fought and begged for, and one that he would continue fighting for.

So what if he died here? The city’s heart would beat for him in the days that he was granted and then move on to bigger and better things without him. To make an impact for the better for the people, no matter how small, no matter if he had to cross every corner and continent of the world, that was enough hope to make his heart swell.

He stayed on the rooftop until he saw the sun rise, it’s orange hue coating the city before him in a painted array of promise and optimism and love for a fresh new day and world. 

And now that love was so undeniably brimming from within him, he had wondered why he had ever hesitated to say it. It was too late to say it now to Grantaire, but he could show it. 

Climbing down from the rooftop he walked the streets until he found a payphone on the corner. He allowed his muscle memory to guide him in dropping a coin into the box and punching a number that he somehow knew by heart, the smile on his face burning his cheeks as each ring rhythmically aligned to the beating of his heart. Until a click and a shuffle was heard.

"Hello?" Grantaire's sleepy voice sounded so distant over the echoing verbatim of the pay phone line, but it's familiarity was such a comfort to him that he felt he could collapse into the small, cold booth.

"It's me," Enjolras said, feeling his emotions swell in his voice. "I thought you should know that you're right, it’s worth it to die for something you believe in, and I think we can win." 

"Jesus," there was a nervous laugh on the other end of the line. "It’s six in the morning, why the change of heart?"

"It’s a long story," Enjolras said, smiling to himself and looking out to the street as people began to begin their morning routines. "But I know you’re right because as long as there are people like you who keep fighting for a better future, even if we lose, we can’t - not really. And I'm going to be there with you whether we succeed or not."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Not that I don’t like being told I’m right or anything but you seemed pretty sure of our failure the last time we talked." Grantaire said hesitantly. “If it's not something you believe in-”

"I believe in you,” Enjolras said gently. “And us.”

“Okay,” Grantaire replied uncertainly, drawing the word out slightly. “I’d like to see that.”

Before he could say another word, the click of a receiver echoed in his ear, looking at the scratched up handset, he paused for a moment before placing it back in its cradle. A small desire to question himself was still lingering within him, but he let it simmer in his chest, untouched and unacknowledged. There was something a lot stronger also there, and it was growing as he walked down the street, taking in the faces of those around him with a newfound appreciation for the day ahead.

* * *

Enjolras had joined his friends at the earliest time he could that night, and his enthusiasm was unparalleled. There were some questions and jokes about his sudden shift in mood after his absence from the night before, but Enjolras simply laughed along with them, happy to be in the company of his friends

“We’ve been putting this off for as long as we’ve been able to,” Grantaire addressed the room suddenly after a long night of preparations. “But I think we need to talk about the plan if our peace is met with violence.”

The mood within the room instantly shifted, as all eyes were pointed towards Grantaire and a rare moment of quiet took over in anticipation for his plan. 

“What should we do if they cut us off at the square with riot gear and batons?” Combeferre asked first, breaking the silence.

“Crowd together in small groups, protect one another and try to lead them away from the building. We don’t need everybody to get there, as long as one of us can reach the main entrance steps and lay a wreath we’ll consider it a success.”

To his right, Courfeyrac nodded. “And if they shoot into the crowds?” 

“People will disperse, and we can’t ask them not to of course- but if our group can agree to march on until they physically prevent us from going further we can make a strong statement.”

Bossuet stood up, a proud and determined look behind his eyes. “I’m with you until the end.”

“Me too,” Feuilly said, rising to his feet as well. “We’ll reach the steps or die trying.

“So dramatic,” Bahorel rolled his eyes before placing a hand on his shoulder. “We're carrying bouquets not bayonets, we aren’t exactly a threat.”

“We’re hoping that’s their logic though,” Joly grinned. “Let them underestimate us, when they see the power of the people they won’t be prepared enough to stop us.”

One by one, his friends all agreed to continue onwards no matter the risk, and when it was his turn to speak Enjolras didn’t hesitate to join them and the room was filled with his friends showering each other with gestures of affection and comradery.

“It’s almost as though you’re a new man,” Jehan winked with a knowing smile. Enjolras pressed a kiss to his cheek in response, his gratitude towards him for his help in his change of heart would never be forgotten.

The mutual agreement created an excited buzz within the room and it was in this moment, when the spirits were high and the room was filled with exhilaration that Enjolras was hit by a sudden aching want. 

Even with his rejuvenated passion and newfound drive, he couldn’t help but miss Grantaire. He was undeniably here, but he had no memory of what they had been through, they couldn’t share secret conversations, or hypothesize philosophically about death, and he couldn’t reach across a table to clasp his hand, or wrap his arms around him in comfort when he saw him become stressed and overwhelmed, or touch him in ways that he had only just learned he wanted. To have that so briefly for it to be so quickly taken away from him was devastating. Not having him at all would have been less painful than knowing what it felt like to be held in his arms. 

When the ache for him reached its most desperate, a part of him wanted to abandon all pretense and care and tell him he loved him, reasoning without logic that somehow it may bring back his memories. But that thought was quickly abandoned, and Enjolras kept his hurt and longing private and unsaid, instead he took small moments to watch him from the distance. He couldn’t help but watch him in his new found glory. To see him take charge and be so determined about the brightness of the future, it was impossible not to fall deeper in love with him, and that was just as pleasant as it was painful. The small interactions they shared were too few, and left him wanting so much more. 

The day of the planned protest had arrived with much anticipation, those peaceful moments watching him had come and gone too quickly, he knew no matter how many lives he was granted by his side, it would never be enough. For the first time since their conversation outside he found himself alone with Grantaire. 

“There are more people outside than I thought,” Grantaire looked nervously out the window where a large mass had gathered. 

Enjolras smiled at him. “You’re good at rallying a crowd.”

“Listen, I appreciate that you’ve been trying  — and don’t think I haven’t noticed  — I have. It’s just-” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly, Enjolras ducked his eyes in order to suppress the fond grin that was growing as he watched him. “As much as I can hope this will go well for us, there is really no way of knowing. I won’t think any less on you if you still want to bail.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but find humour in this. There was no way for him to know just how impossible that option was for him to even consider. Especially now that he wanted to be here and involved. 

“It’s nice to know I have your permission to leave, do I need it to stay too?” 

Grantaire met his amused expression with an annoyed frown.

“I’m being serious.” 

“So am I,” Enjolras said, allowing himself to meet Grantaire’s eyes. Something he had been avoiding in fear he would reveal something he could not explain. “I want you to see what I’m capable of. Will you let me stay?”

“It’s not that I don’t think you're capable, I just-” Grantaire hesitated again, looking away and sighing before meeting his eyes again with conviction. “I see you. I’m not completely tunnel visioned, you know, I do notice things, I catch you sometimes, watching me.”

Enjolras froze, his heart still in his chest. His mind began to race with possible explanations or rebuffs as he waited for the approaching rejection, but it didn’t come. Instead Grantaire moved his shaking hand over Enjolras’ and pressed it in gentle understanding. Enjolras understood now too, and a familiar feeling rose in his chest at the realization. He knew as he searched him, the same ache and longing that had been consuming him for days was reflected in Grantaire’s eyes. 

It was too late for them in this life, the window of opportunity had closed, but to know it had been there was validation enough. 

“Just… Don’t do this for the wrong reasons, okay?” Grantaire said quietly, his voice breaking on the words. “I’m not someone worth dying for.”

“That’s debatable,” Enjolras replied with tender fondness.

“You’re impossible,” although Grantaire expressed a frustrated sigh as he moved his hand away and grabbed the wreath of red roses on the table, Enjolras saw the smile he was trying to hide as he turned and left.

Taking this small moment of solitude and holding it closely to his heart, Enjolras closed his eyes. In a moment, whether they were successful in their efforts, this life and world would change, and if he died generations would pass between lives and blossom new people to signal hope. There was a reason each new life had so many vessels he could pass through  — because people like him would always exist. People who wanted change and fairness and good for all men. As long as he was passing through them, he would do their lives justice with his actions. 

He’d take each life he had no matter the circumstance, and voice his words would remain loud and true. He placed a stray yellow honeysuckle that someone had left on the table behind his ear, and picking up his chain of daisies, joined the crowds outside and found the area his friends had gathered, finding himself invigorated with the spirit of the people surrounding him. He took his place behind Grantaire and looked over his shoulder as fire ran through his body seeing more and more crowds emerging, flowers in their hair and garlands wrapped around their shoulders, ready to march towards Palazzo Vecchio to lay their wreaths and bouquets.    
  
Grantaire’s eyes shone brightly as he gave the order to march and he glowed in the mask of the afternoon light as the city moved as one in a bursting display of colour and energy, flags were unfurled and waving in the wind as they chanted their demands with fervor. 

They were halfway to their destination when the first shot rang out behind them. Someone in the crowd screamed, several people had fled the crowd and dropped their flowers in the street, running from the threats around them, but many still were continuing forwards.

“Keep marching!” he heard Grantaire call from ahead of him. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as chaos erupted around them. 

A second shot was fired, followed by a third and fourth. The screams and cries were growing more frequent and desperate, and yet they walked onwards, Enjolras gripped the daisies he was holding tightly in his hands, a few stray crushed petals fell towards the ground below him.

He had stopped counting bullets by the time Feuilly fell beside him. It was hard not to stop, to not crouch beside him and help him, but they were still moving forwards and even from the ground Feuilly shouted for them to keep going. Enjolras closed his eyes and drew a harsh breath. 

One by one his friends fell beside him. Ahead of him, he could see Grantaire shaking, his head was tilted upwards in determination but there were tears streaming down his face. Enjolras changed his pace to walk in place with him — h e didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know they were the only ones remaining. Whoever wasn’t shot had fled in fear long ago and were now either in custody or watching from the safety of the windows above them. It was only when they turned the corner that they stopped in place.

Ahead of them stood a line of soldiers, their shields creating a wall between them and Palazzo Vecchio, guns raised, their ranks blocking their path. Enjolras turned his head towards a nearby window, there was a small head poking out from a crack there. Hiding from sight but still intent on watching. Enjolras smiled up at them when their eyes met before turning back towards the ill-fated sight before them.

The soldiers shouted orders at them telling them to move no further. 

There was fear in Grantaire’s eyes and a tremble in his lips, and Enjolras knew what needed to be done. Extending his hand towards Grantaires, he clasped it in solidarity. 

Grantaire tore his eyes away from the guns to meet his. Enjolras smiled at him, his expression free of concern or regret and Grantaire took a breath and in an instant he saw the fear within him change to acceptance. He nodded at Enjolras, before facing they both looked forward once more.

  
Taking a step in tandem, hand in hand. A second warning was shouted to them, and they stepped forward once more until the orders changed and were no longer directed towards them.

A shower of bullets shook their bodies, spattering blood and petals beneath them until they too joined them on the ground. Enjolras had only a moment of life still within him when his head made contact with the ground as darkness told hold around him.

* * *

Enjolras became aware of his new life by being awoken by a constant buzzing sound to the right of him. Just like the one that came before it, he was no longer falling and he had still not seen death. 

He ignored the noise, moving a tired arm over his eyes. 

Although he was conscious and ready for whatever was in store for him, Enjolras wanted to block out the world around him for just a moment. A hope was brimming in his chest, and as he clung to it he also wished to cling to certain memories before allowing new information to take form around him. 

Certain things that would guide him forward and remind him to never lose his fire again, no matter how long he stayed on this journey. The buzzing beside him eventually came to an end, and as he breathed in the air of a new day, he concentrated on memories of his previous paths.

Paris— _“Permets Tu”_. Spain— _an outstretched hand to grieving friend in the rain_. Argentina— _a red fury taking him as he saw Grantaire fall from the barricade_. England— _Grantaire’s name scribbled neatly onto paper, placed close to his heart_. The war— _a hand clasping his in darkness and comfort, a stuttering in his heart_. Romania— _a kiss shared under the stars, kind words shared in secret when they died together._ Italy _—_ _Grantaire surrounded by fallen flowers as he took his hand and smiled_.   
  
More and more memories came to him, and he knew that even if Grantaire didn’t remember again, he would be able to push onwards with strength from the past guiding him forward. He thought briefly of the times he’d spent with him, when suddenly something came to him knocking the air out of him as it did so. Enjolras sat up sharply, his eyes wide open, a small and neatly organized room materialized around him where a small window allowed a streak of sunlight across his face, but he paid no attention to any of his surroundings as he desperately tried to chase the memory that had just fleeted across his mind.

“ _ Let’s drive away from here. Let’s keep going until we can forget it all _ .”

It came to him all at once, a cold and sudden shock as though someone had thrown ice water in his face. 

His breath hitched within his throat, his heart beating fast and painfully against his chest as he realized what was happening; for it felt as though it had been with him forever, and in a way it had — yet it bristled with the promise of the unknown.

Piece by piece, his time in the life he had forgotten came back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some (a lot) of notes. 
> 
> -God I love role reversal. Yeah surprise this whole fic was just an excuse for me to write a bit of that and originally when I came up with the entire concept there was a lot more of Enjolras sliding into Grantaire's role more strongly with drinking and other things, but as I wrote more of Enjolras in this story it didn't make much sense for the character. So this is more of a subtle role reversal but I still enjoyed writing it thoroughly. I love the idea that theres a universe where Grantaire is leading a revolution and Enjolras is just pestering him on the side with heart eyes  
> \- As Grantaire said, this was inspired by an actual peaceful protest that was completely successful. The Carnation Revolution happened in Portugal in 1974. A protest won entirely by flowers and people. How beautiful is that??? Humanity!! Is!! So Special!!!  
> -This chapter occurs in Italy, but a version of Italy that is under control of a fascist government in the early 2000's.   
> -I think bearing that in mind this chapter is a lot more tragic if you imagine all of the characters in early 2000's fashion choices... Oh no the low rise jeans, oh no I regret this instantly make it stop!!  
> -Also probably why Enjolras had trouble finding things online. I don't know if any of you remember google in the early 2000's on dial up speed but it wasn't exactly the be all end of all search engines it is today. (Remember the I'm feeling lucky button? Wild.) I just instantly aged myself writing this point...  
> -And because I love flowers here are the traditional meanings behind the ones featured:  
> Daisies - Innocence and Hope  
> Roses - Love  
> Honeysuckle - Bonds of love
> 
> I'll be okay. We'll all be okay. Love will prevail.
> 
> That's a huge part of why this chapter was so important to me and I didn't want to rush it. It was a hard one to write, in all of this personal tragedy happening in my life it was hard to remain positive. Which is especially hard for me personally because I'm usually an incredibly positive person, I love hope, I love faith in future and humanity and it felt like I couldn't be that person anymore and that was crushing me. I felt like I was losing a piece of myself to circumstances out of my control (funny dramatic irony considering I was writing about Enjolras having the exact same issue. Thanks universe, you got the whole squad laughing with that one.)
> 
> But I will prevail, you will prevail, and we will all prevail past 2020. 
> 
> We are more than the sum are the bad things that happen to us, and I'm incredibly grateful to all of you that read this and share your love. What an incredible community, I'm blessed to be a part of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, If you have a mo' I'd love your feedback.


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